


Hallows' Moon

by twoscarypandas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 65,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoscarypandas/pseuds/twoscarypandas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The full moon falls on All Hallows' Night, and Norway is left to deal with a host of nations who are more than they seem. With wolves on the loose, fairies gone wild, and an imp for a partner, he's going to need some extra help. Unfortunately, what he gets is a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Moon Rising

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! In honor of the season, we have a hetaliafied tale of wizards, wolves, vampires, and more! We hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany begins to think he is losing his mind, Italy begins craving tomatoes, and Norway begins to prepare for what is certain to be the craziest night of the year.

October 29, 6:00 PM

The sun is going down and the sky has taken on a brilliant orange hue that seems to only exist in fall. Norway watches it from his window, wary. There is just one more day until the full moon. To make matters worse, this year the moon will land on All Hallows’ Eve. Together, they are sure to bring chaos to the world in ways that cannot be explained or understood. Shaking his head and dreading the days to come, Norway turns away from the window and begins to prepare.

XXX

Across the world, poor naive Germany is about to sit down to supper with Italy, completely oblivious to the hell that is about to rain down upon him. He’s in a good mood tonight; there is sausage on the stove, beer waiting in his stein, and the promise that after dinner there will be more sex. He has Italy's favorite apron on, and he is even humming to himself. “Vene! Wine or beer?” he calls into the dining room where his lover was waiting.

Italy thinks for a moment, holding his grumbling tummy. He needs something different. He's got this odd taste in his mouth, and suddenly, he _must_ have... “TOMATO! Do we have any tomato juice?”

Germany raises an eyebrow. Odd; tomato is one of Italy’s favorite things next to pasta, but it's certainly not what he would normally drink with a nice dinner. They don't really keep _juice_. “No, but we have wine.”

“Tooomaaatooo,” Italy whines. Wine will simply not do. Oh! But Romano was here, and he _always_ leaves tomato juice somewhere. He dives into the couch cushions and starts searching. Within moments he lets out a gleeful squeal, returning to his seat with the can. “Can you cut some fresh tomatoes too, Germany?”

Raising _both_ eyebrows at that, Germany opens the fridge and pulls out a tomato. Actually, sausage, pepper, and tomato kabobs sound good. He grabs some pepper as well and begins to slice it down.

“Don't put anything yucky with mine! Just tomato. Maaaybe pasta.”

Germany starts. “But sausage is not 'yucky'!” He's almost insulted. But then, it is Italy. He sighs. “Fine.” He starts grilling peppers, but leaves the tomato untouched.

Suddenly, Prussia walks through the wall right behind Italy and shouts, “BEER!”

“WAA!” Italy barely manages to keep from knocking over his precious tomato juice as he holds up his white flag and burrows under the tablecloth. “GERMANY! Save me!”

Germany jumps about five feet. “Gil. STOP that. If you're going to cling to some semblance of existence, you should be nicer about it.” He opens the fridge anyway, grabbing a bottle and throwing it at his brother, smirking when it goes directly through his waiting hands.

Prussia grumbles, taking three tries to make himself present enough to pick it up. “You're just jealous that I'm this awesome now.”

“Of course.” He says it sarcastically, even though he is clearly going out of his mind, talking to some kind of twisted figment of his imagination. Prussia died while he was in a bad, bad place. Now there’s some kind of…hallucination, claiming he's "too awesome" to fade away. Germany has never believed in ghosts. He's not about to start with his own brother. He's just... Crazy. He and Italy. They're both crazy.

Italy peeks out from under the table. “Oh! Gil, it's you! It's not very nice to be scary like that!” He taps him on the nose with his flag – or rather, through.

Germany carries the kabobs and the tomatoes to the table, shocked when Italy grabs the tomato plate from his hands, then looks down at it forlornly as though there is not enough there. Before Germany has even had the chance to sit down comfortably, Italy is finished the plate and licking every one of his fingers. “Mmm. I feel much better now!”

Germany leers at the finger licking, chewing on his kabob. “How much?” he asks in what he believes to be a seductive tone.

“Oh very much, thank you Ludwig!” Italy proceeds to down his tomato juice and slurp up his little plate of pasta, and even some meat. As always, he cannot read the atmosphere.

Prussia snorts, savoring the memory of the taste of beer even if it goes right through him, pooling on the floor. “Bruder is _trying_ to ask you for a fuck, Vene.”

Germany glares at the brother who is not there. “Shut up, Gil. You just want to watch and shake the bed while we...” His face turns red.

“Ohh. Si! Of course there will be sex.” Italy grins, sliding into Germany’s lap for a kiss. He completely ignores the kabob that floats off of Germany’s plate, disappears into Prussia’s mouth, and drops right through him.

Prussia would be disappointed if his brother’s face wasn't so funny. “Still gonna eat that?”

Germany runs his fingers through Vene's hair, going a little green at the sight of the kabob on the floor. “No.” He turns away, shuddering and pulling Italy tighter against him, frowning as he breathes him in. He smells like tomato paste; odd, but Italy-odd, and therefore comforting.

XXX

Somewhere to the east, a howl echoes through the air and wakes the senses of three gentle nations who had never desired the waking. One of those nations finds himself growing tired of working, and restless for fresh air. Lithuania packs his tools away and wanders up the steps into the cool, dark night, heading for the garden.

In the open air, he can smell everything. The smoke from a fireplace miles away, grass touched by dew, the chocolate in Poland’s cup... and the other wolf. The Big, Bad Wolf. A low, heavy growl creeps from his throat, and he stalks toward the smell. Russia was here. He'd left his scent, right by the fence to their garden. Unbuttoning his jeans, Lithuania takes himself in hand and marks his territory, then moves to the other side of the garden to do the same.

He takes a jaunt around the house, pissing wherever he finds Russia’s scent, until the grounds are marked to his satisfaction. He rinses his hands with one of the yard hoses and heads back around toward the front where he smelled Poland. He smiles to himself. There's no mistaking who Poland has been with; his own scent is all over him.

Poland is enjoying the evening on the swing in their front garden, reading. Lithuania built the swing himself; it's got just the right amount of room for two people to cuddle. He's alone for the moment, but not uncomfortable since he has himself all wrapped in a blanket, a book in his lap, and a cup of hot chocolate on the side table.

A twig snaps somewhere and he glances up. There's no one in sight, but it's dark and the lamp by the bench doesn't illuminate much beyond the porch. It's probably just an animal; they get plenty of them. He takes a sip of his chocolate and breathes it in. It's getting late, and he should go in soon. The moon above is getting fuller; it might even be full on Halloween. That would be fun. It's too bad Lithuania’s monthly business trip with his brothers will probably fall on the same few days. He cuddles further into the blanket, deciding he's too comfy to move just yet.

Toris heads toward the porch and grins at the sight of Feliks all curled up under his blanket, looking like an angel. “Well met by moonlight,” he calls, shoving his wet hands into his pockets to dry them.

Feliks jumps a little, taken by surprise. Then he smiles. It's only Toris; he _must_ be getting tired. “Hey! Don't sneak up like that; totally uncool.”

Lithuania laughs, stepping up onto the porch and leaning over him, tempting him. “It's usually harder to surprise you.” Breathing in his scent calms him; it’s like sun in the trees, drawing the earth to a new morning. “I guess you're a little out of it.”

A lock of deep brown hair falls past Lithuania's face, and Poland tugs on it. “I've been busy and stuff. Fall harvest, remember?” He chuckles. “You should. You keep interrupting, saying I smell too good - _way_ weird, Liet, but I kind of like it.”

“You _do_ smell too good.” Lithuania sighs, leaning in and leaving a kiss on Poland’s nose before moving lower to breathe in his scent at the neck. It’s exactly right. Nipping once at his pulse, he pulls away and drops to the swing beside him, drawing the blanket over his legs. “Snuggle. You know I'm way more interesting than that book.”

Poland hums, putting the book by his drink so he can cuddle up close. He inhales as he wraps the blanket around them, but has to pull away to sneeze. “You smell like your workshop. And you're covered in wood shavings.”

Lithuania blushes. “Sorry.” Shifting beneath the blanket, he takes off his shirt and kicks off his pants. He knows the scent irritates his lover, and besides, all Poland has on under the blanket is a flimsy little chemise and a robe.

“S'ok.” Poland yawns and happily curls back into him. “You have your business trip soon, yeah?”

“Business trip?” Lithuania frowns, not sure he understands. When it dawns on him he freezes, then sighs. “Yeah. I'll hate it without you though.” He can't bear the thought of leaving Poland here all alone, smelling so good and tasting just right. He wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer.

 “I miss you so much whenever you leave. The house gets totally quiet, and no matter how much I sing to myself I just end up sounding like a crazy person.” Poland runs a hand through Lithuania’s hair, nails scratching over his scalp.

Oh, that feels nice. Nicer than usual. Lithuania closes his eyes and leans into it, sighing softly against his ear. “I never like leaving you. I swear, it's like I have attachment issues. I can't stand it when you're not around.” Nibbling his earlobe, he skims a hand up Poland’s side, sliding it beneath his little chemise.

Poland sighs happily, sleepy but still awake enough to fool around. “Guess we'll just have to make the most of the time we have then, huh?” His hands follow the line of Lithuania’s neck, pausing to kneed his shoulders before he rubs over his sides.

Lithuania lets out a whine, dropping his face into Poland’s shoulder and barely even feeling his leg spasm erratically beneath the blanket. That feels _so good_.

“Eep!” For a moment Poland thinks a mouse has crawled in with them, but a peak under the blankets tells him it's only Lithuania, his leg practically vibrating. He moves his hands to rub the leg. “Stop that, you're kicking me.”

“Huh?” Lithuania opens his eyes slowly and looks down beneath the blanket. “Oh. Sorry.” Blushing slightly, he reaches down and rubs his thigh, trying to make it look like a cramp. “Must've seized up on me. I didn't even feel it.” His other hand creeps around, slipping up his lover’s spine.

“Poor baby.” Poland goes back to rubbing Lithuania’s sides, but the moment he leans in to kiss him, the man’s leg starts shaking again. He frowns and pulls away. “Your leg okay?”

“Y-Yeah, fine. I don't know why it's doing that.” Lithuania laughs, leaning up to kiss his mouth. It’s been a very long time since they've done anything intimate outside like this. His senses are amplified: he can smell everything, hear every hitch in his lover's breath. He skims his nails down Poland’s spine, sliding his fingers into his pants as he nibbles the sweet spot at the shell of his ear. “How long has it been? Four hours or so?”

Poland groans, his hand moving to caress Lithuania’s chest. “If that. You've been on fire the past couple of days. Did you take something from Mr. America again?” He laughs, one hand sinking low to rub against the bulge in Lithuania’s boxers.

“Look who's talking.” Lithuania grins, rubbing his own hand against Poland. “You were the one who started it last time. I didn't know I looked so irresistible in my apron.” He kisses his mouth long and slow, taking his time, enjoying every taste, every touch.

When they pause for air, Poland pants. “But you _do_ look irresistible in that apron. Especially when you're wagging your butt; it’s super cute.” He shifts, trying to find better balance on the swing. Something bites into his knee, and he reaches down to pull it out. It's just a stick, and with a shrug he tosses it off the porch.

Lithuania sees Poland pull something out from under the swing's cushion and launch it into the air, and quite suddenly he can think of nothing else. His mind blanks and he throws himself from the swing, skidding after it and coming to a stop. He snatches it up and runs back, dropping it into Poland’s lap, still in a daze.

Poland blinks at the stick, then at Lithuania, and back again. His heart is hammering; he nearly fell off the swing when Lithuania leapt up. “Um...oookay. That's some of the weirdest foreplay I've ever seen. Wanna tell me exactly what you intend to do with that stick, Liet?”

It's only then that Lithuania comes out of the trance, shaking his head a little and blinking down at the stick. Shit. How's he going to explain this one? “I- I was saving it.” Oh crap. What just came out of his mouth?

Poland raises an eyebrow. “Saving it for _what_?” He picks up the stick, trying to see if there's any special properties to it that a master craftsman might like. It looks like an ordinary stick to him, but Liet's got a funny way of deciding what wood works or doesn't. Judging by the way Lithuania's eyes follow the stick wherever he moves it, it must be something special. He sighs and puts it on the table with the book and (cold) chocolate. “Fine, whatevs. But do me a favor and tell me next time you leave work pieces out here? I don't want to toss another prized 'schticky friend' by accident. Did that once to Germany - _totally_ a bad idea.”

“Ah, um…It's okay.” He shakes his head a little, taking Poland’s hand and drawing him up from the swing. He smirks a little. “Come inside? I'll play with _your_ 'schticky friend'.”

Poland grins, letting the blanket fall. It's supposed to be nice tomorrow, so he doesn't bother to grab anything from the table. Besides, there are more pressing matters to attend to.


	2. The Sleepless Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushed to the breaking point, England abandons an increasingly desperate France. Meanwhile, China and Russia have a disagreement that ends in blood - just not in the way one might expect.

October 30, 12:00 AM

He has not slept in an age, it seems, though it is really more like two weeks. Tonight he isn't sleeping either - not for anything in the world. Swallowing another cold mouthful of tea, England paces through his magic lab and tries to think of a way to block himself from dreaming. If he dreams, he will be trapped by the long, nimble talons of a man - a _creature_ \- that knows well how to use them. He's angry with that creature. Very angry. And fed up with taking care of the mystical creatures of this world. Norway can have them all now, he wants no part of it! Flipping through his most reliable spell book, he continues his search for a sleeping drought that will protect him from every advance France can (literally) dream up.

Unfortunately for England, France is already lounging on his couch, watching him pace with a smirk. Granted, the smirk is beginning to take on a desperate edge. The rose in his hand has already begun to blacken, and that is a very, very bad sign. When all the petals have changed from red to black, there will be no spell in the world to stop him from transforming into a monster. “Come, Angleterre, you know this will only make things worse.”

“Shut up, you ingrate!” England paces faster now, swallowing more tea and then tossing the mug back into the sink. He'll fill it up later, when France starts touching him again. He'll need something to distract himself. “Just - Just leave me alone! I want nothing more to do with you!”

“Oh come now, cheri, we both know that is not true! Just look at you, all flushed and jittery. Why, you would think you had never done this before!” France sits up, draping himself over the back of the couch so that his shirt falls open. “If you want to play that game, I can be gentle.”

“I said go away!” England cries out, pacing to the far side of the room where he keeps all his stored potions. “Leave me alone, go find another partner! You've got the whole rest of the world, just leave me be!”

“You know I cannot.” France says seriously, hoping that a little less seduction might work on his stiff friend/lover/enemy. It doesn't seem to. “You're my _favorite_ ,” he adds, coating every word with honey. “You're so close by, and you understand, you know what it means for me.”

England’s resolve cannot waver, and yet it does. His shoulders shake and sag, because he _does_ understand. However, he can't be the one to deal with it any longer. “I can't, Francis. I can't be a part of this. You're driving me mad, you're all driving me mad! I need you to leave. I won't be your...your partner any longer!”

That sends France into a panic. He jumps over the edge of the couch and rushes to England, wrapping his arms around him and kissing all down his neck. “But mon cher, mon amour! Where am I to go? Norway has a mind of steel, and no one else knows! No one but Gilbert, and he is gone. I cannot stand the thought of another seeing me like that. Please,” he drops to his knees, “ _please_!”

Oh Good Lord, the sight of France on his knees like that, the kisses, the way his hands are clinging to his clothes... “I can't, I can't!” England has to run, flee, get himself away and _STAY AWAKE_ , because the moment he falls asleep he may give in.

“Arthur!” France shouts after him. But the man is running down the hall, and he is sure England will disappear if he tries to catch him. Damn it all. Maybe he can try talking to Norway; no, that venture is likely to be even _less_ successful than this. Maybe a nice round of regular sex will cool things down enough to tide him over? There _should_ be plenty of nations around for that. On the other hand, when he goes through his mental list it seems like most of his usual lovers are unavailable. Spain is dealing with Romano (apparently something very strange is going on there). Prussia is dead.

Perhaps it’s time for France to take a trip across the ocean, then, and hope the North American boys are not experiencing any of the oddities that have been plaguing the rest of them.

XXX

China has been sitting here, waiting in the darkness, for over two hours. His only movement, the tapping of his finger, is a signal to all that he should only be disturbed upon his command. Unless, of course, Russia arrives. Russia may freely disturb him. But Hong Kong, who has been living with him since he left England's house, knows better than to simply leave him be. Every tap means something. Every sigh means something. It takes knowing the right taps, the right sighs, to satisfy Yao Wang. At the right taps, he'd brought him dim sum and a glass of wine. At the right sighs, he'd brought him a foot rest and a blanket. Now, all that could satisfy China would be Russia.

Russia was up late, prowling around to remind his pack to be ready, and to whom they really belong. Now that he's finished marking their dens, he has come to reclaim his mate. He pauses by the gate to piss on the post; it's been too long, and the place is starting to smell of other things. Most prevalent, of course, is that of his lover: sharp, floral, and with a tinge of iron-sweetness. He does not bother to knock or to ask where China is. He knows.

China hears him outside his window. Smells him: snow and earth. Urine. Vodka. He sits back in his chair and waits for him to come, to explain himself. Explain why he smells of Polish Poppies and Estonian brown bread. Dragging his tongue over his lower lip, tasting his last taste of wine, Yao taps at the arm rest three times, and watches Hong Kong move to the door.

Kaoru pulls the door open, kind of glaring at Mr. ScaryScarf. “What?”

Russia snarls and pushes past him. His mate is seated, looking at him with a hint of a frown around those bright lips. He smiles and goes on one knee to kiss his hand. He can smell a drop of wine between his fingers and laps at it. “Mine.”

China allows him a moment of hope, of grace. One second of belief that he is not in very, very serious trouble. Then he yanks his hand away and _slaps_ Russia’s cheek, watching his face turn at a nearly unnatural angle with the force. That felt far too good. He continues to watch his face impassively as it turns back to him.

Russia growls low in his throat. In a few more nights, he might've taken a hand for that - even China’s. But for now he still has the presence of mind to only glare and show his teeth. “That was not very nice, or very wise.”

China’s blood boils. He does not move, only stares at his lover with ink-black eyes, all ice. “I am not feeling very nice. And obviously I still want you, so I am not wise.”

“You are hungry, then?” Russia asks, a bit more gently. China is never nice when he is too hungry. Perhaps he kept him waiting too long.

“ _Two_ _hours_ , Ivan!” China gets up, gliding past him and toward the window where he can peer out at the moon. “Of _course_ I'm hungry. And tired. And very annoyed with the fact that you smell like you've rolled in Polish Poppies.”

Russia smirks. “I did. And then I pissed on them.” China does not look like he finds that so amusing, so he tempers his expression. “Come, my little bat. I do not mean to make you angry. I had territories to reclaim. I must remind them who is alpha, da?”

China glares at his reflection quite fixedly, crossing his arms over his chest. Then he relents, going honey around the edges as he turns. He knows he should not fight with Russia so close to the moon. It was silly to be upset, but he does not like that his lover feels such a need to claim that stupid Lithuania. “I do not see why they must be reminded, aru.” He moves toward him, his voice like silk. “It is no contest.”

This tone is much better. Still very dangerous, but that's the way Russia prefers it. “Ever since they became independent, they get silly ideas. You understand, I am sure.” He glances sidelong at Hong Kong. “Lithuania especially, now that he has a mate of his own.”

China sends Hong Kong a steely glare, and the boy immediately grabs his jacket. He will be of no use tonight. Once he is gone China allows himself to move closer, arms slowly wrapping around Russia’s neck. “I do not think you need Lithuania.” He glares a little, pouting. “And is not fair.”

Russia sighs. “He is pack, Yao. I will never let him go; is too dangerous for them on their own - and for everyone else. We must take care of our families, da?” He presses a kiss to the top of China’s head. “You, you are strong. You are mine, and I am _yours_. Is different.”

China nods, feeling quite satisfied with the way Ivan says _'yours_ '. His hands slide lower and he pulls Russia a little closer by the waist. “I hope so, aru. I am not wanting to make a meal out of your puppy. He would taste disgusting.” Leaning up, he presses a shallow kiss to his lips, forcing Russia to deepen it himself, take what he needs.

Russia has learned to be careful when kissing China - at least, a hungry China. He doesn't like to cut his tongue, because that makes it hard to eat. But for the moment, the fangs are away and he can happily ravish that sweet mouth. He tries very hard to keep it delicate, because when he does not it gets sloppy. China does not like 'dog kisses'.

China groans softly, the taste of Russia setting his fangs on edge. He enjoys his tongue far more than he would ever admit, but right now, just tasting this man is making him remember how hungry he is. He drags Russia over to the chair and pushes him down, sliding into his lap and slowly unwinding his scarf. “Thank you, baby,” he says in advance, licking over the spot he intends to bite - one of their favorites.

Russia is already groaning as he tilts his head to the side, giving China the space to play. China is the only one who is allowed to remove his scarf, and this is the reason why. “My pleasure.”

China licks over the skin one more time before his teeth emerge and he sinks them into the already-scarred flesh. Blood, life, pours into his mouth and he swallows it all, loving that it's Ivan's. Beneath him, the man groans with the forbidden pleasure of it, every suck sending wave after wave through him. This is perfection.

There's an instant of pain so sharp it has Russia gripping China's arms, followed rapidly by pleasure that has him holding tighter. He practically squirms beneath him. China groans, taking what he needs until he is entirely sated. 

Russia sinks back, dizzy and panting, while China licks the wound until all that remains are a tiny pair of scars. “ _That_ is why I go to my pack first.”

China grins, licking his lips and taking a long lick up to Russia’s ear. He nips the shell, teasing. “Don't take so long next time.” He ruts down against him, his cock dragging up against Russia’s. It feels delicious; makes him want to take advantage of his beautiful wolf in this vulnerable state. “Will you let me taste the rest of you this time?”

“As you wish.” Russia reaches out, his hand dragging lazily through China’s hair. There's a little trail of blood on the vampire’s chin. He smirks and drags his first finger through it, holding it up for him to see. “You are getting messy.”

China laughs, leaning in to lick over his lower lip. “I am allowed to be messy if you are allowed to piss on my porch.”

Russia nips at him. “Is my part of the curse. Your porch did not _smell_ right.”

“Perhaps it is because I had Kiku over for tea this afternoon,” China says in a voice that is all innocence, even though he knows _exactly_ how Russia feels about that particular relationship.

A low growl confirms the violent jealousy that slithers through Russia’s system. The reaction would be even more obvious if he hadn't just lost a good 2 quarts of blood. On the other hand, the logical part of his mind is reminding him that if he has his pack, China is allowed to have his own and see them as he wishes. Not that he must like it.

Satisfied, China slithers down Russia’ body, intent on sucking the _other_ life-force out of his body. All of it.


	3. The Sorcerer and the Imp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norway's preparations for All Hallows' Eve are interrupted by Denmark. Thankfully, the interruption turns out to be a very pleasant one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween lovelies!  
> WARNING: This chapter contains explicit sex.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

October 30, 9:00 AM

There’s nothing to be done; no way to stagger or stem the flood that’s coming. Norway has checked every one of his books and consulted with the few other experts who are available. Unfortunately, England has been almost completely drained by that damn incubus and Romania has, apparently, gotten stuck in an alternate dimension.

Norway shakes his head. He needs to start sending notices out, rounding up the ones that will be the most dangerous once the moon is full. With this task in mind, he heads downstairs - only to find himself stumbling as the fifth step gives out beneath his feet. He falls with a cry, just managing to catch himself on the railing.

“Dude! Your _face_!” Denmark laughs. He's been waiting for Norge to come down the stairs for a good ten, twenty minutes. His face is absolutely priceless. Best gag yet.

“Mattias! You could have killed me!” Norway glares at him, one hand still clutching the railing and the other over his thundering heart.

“I know!” He laughs louder, leaning on the table as he tries to calm himself down. “Know what would’ve be even _more_ hilarious? If you'd been naked.”

Norway glowers. Denmark drives him up the wall, but, technically, it's not his fault. Well it is, but it's just in his nature. Imps live for mischief. It was either live with him and try to enjoy his good points, or release all of the imp’s dangerous jokes on a world that is already full of supernatural dangers. He sighs and carefully works his way around the false step, testing each below it. “Matt. Please listen, this is important. I need you to be _good_ today; at least keep the pranks to a minimum. I'm very busy, and if anything goes wrong the consequences could be disastrous. So if you _want_ to see me naked...”

“…I should just do this?” Denmark reaches over, pulls the loose thread on Norway's pants, and watches them fall to tatters around his ankles. The sound Norge makes when those pants fall makes him go into hysterics. He drops his head to the table, laughing like he's on something, because this has to be his favorite prank yet. On the other hand, he says that about all of them.

Norway squeaks, turning bright red. Thankfully, he still has his underwear. He shakes the remaining fabric from his feet and thwaps Denmark on the back of his head. “Idiot. That's all you’re getting.”

Denmark rubs the back of his head as Norge walks past him into the kitchen. Oh well. That's a fine ass to think about later. Yawning a little, he stretches out on a chair and throws his feet onto the other. “So, what's the big deal?”

For a moment Norway pauses, considering the kind of damage the imp could do with such information. Then again, Denmark _is_ just about the only one he can be honest with. He needs...well, he just might need the extra hand (although it’s more likely he’ll end up wrapping Denmark in iron chains and leaving him in a church). “The full moon, the tomato harvest, and All Hallow's Eve are all falling on the same night.”

“Oh... Like... What?” Denmark raises his eyebrows, completely not understanding. ‘Busy night,’ is about as much as he can gather. Norge likes to hold these meetings on full moons sometimes. That must be it. “Are you afraid nobody's gonna come over?”

“No, I'm afraid _everyone_ is going to come over. Everyone, with all their problems, all in one place. It's going to be more trouble than even _you_ can imagine. I think I'm going to need to call in some help.” He sighs. England hasn't been taking his calls for a while now. Ever since that one night, when Arthur threw up his hands and told him he'd had he enough, he hasn't done much in the way of looking after the world's ...creatures.

“Oh. Par-tay.” Denmark grins, feeling better now that he knows what has Norway feeling all bothered. Getting the house clean, probably. Heh - he'll have to 'help' with that. But for now, it’s time to make nice. He gets up and strides closer, hands sliding around Norway’s pale, well-muscled thighs to drag themselves up beneath the leg holes of his underwear. “But hey. I guess that means I'll have to use this precious time alone with you wisely.”

Norway stiffens, then squirms as the hands brush against more sensitive places. “H-hey Matt, not now, I have to-!” On second thought, that feels quite nice, and it _would_ be a good idea to relieve some of the tension before things get crazy. “I...we should...make it quick.”

Denmark smirks, his lips coming down to ruthlessly bite the shell of his ear. “No,” he murmurs against, and Norge practically melts against his chest. “I'm going to take my sweet, sweet time, dude.”

“Oh...” Teeth. Those teeth that nibble and never quite break the skin, always _exactly_ where they should be...fucking imps. Despite the chaos Matt causes, when he gets like this Lukas almost always gives in. It's resulted in more than one wasted evening. “We should go somewhere else. I don't want to do it in the kitchen. I've still got burns from last time. You are _terrible_ luck in the kitchen.”

“I'm terrible luck everywhere.” Mattias chuckles. His lips move down to Luk’s pulse, nipping it as though it's his to command. “But I'm a great fuck either way.”

Lukas can't deny that, so he settles for a soft, pleasant sigh. He rocks gently back against him, moving one arm back to caress Matt's side. For some reason, he's fond of the bastard - and it's not just because of the sex. “Where do you want to...?”

Guiding Luk gently to face him, Matt kisses his mouth, enjoying the way they press together. He slides his hands up his back and rests his palm on the back of Luk’s neck, cradling his skull as he pulls him in tight. “Den's closest.” He smirks, pulling back a little. “How long's it been since we fucked on that couch?”

Lukas rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Two nights ago.” A rare occasion, during which he was the one interrupting Matt's work. All he had to do was lean in the doorway wearing nothing but one of his lover's hockey jerseys, and the imp was his. He kisses Matt's lips and starts walking him back towards that room. “Remember? I'd been trying to come up with a solution for Arthur. You try dealing with an incubus all day and not ending up horny.”

“Is that another word for 'hard-on'?” Matt asks seriously, because he has no idea what an incubus is and he doesn't really care. He remembers two nights ago, though, with Luk in his favorite jersey, sliding into his lap as though he meant to stake a claim. It was so sexy, he wishes the security feed caught it. “If it's yours, I'm there.”

This time the eye roll is less amused. The other reason Luk can trust Matt not to talk about the nations' other, less humanoid sides is because he never remembers what they are. “Incubus. It's a sex demon. Rather similar to you, imp, except their favorite mischief is to go into people's dreams...” he taps his fingers against Matt's forehead, then slides a hand through his hair, drawing their lips close enough to kiss. “...and have sex with them. Lots and lots of dirty sex, any way you can imagine. Even some that are not physically possible, from what I hear.”

“Mmm... So, you're an incubus, right?” Matt leans in, nibbling on his lower lip as he steers them toward the couch. The funny thing about Luk is that he babbles about this sort of thing a lot. Most of the time, Matt just wonders if he has a couple screws loose and lets it roll in one ear and out the other. This, however, is sexy. “Slipping into my dreams and demanding a good, hard screw?” And leaving before he wakes. That's another thing about Luk. He loves the sex, or so it seems. But he's never really expressed any fondness for him outside of it. Not that he's noticed.

“No, I'm just the one they call in to handle it all now that England's gone off the deep end. It's rather stressful having someone feeding off your energy all the time.” He gives Matt a look. “Good thing I don't have anyone like that around.”

Matt grins, pushing him to the couch and watching with delight as he sprawls out perfectly, long pale legs parting just for him. He steps between them. “Good thing.” He chuckles, unbuttoning his shirt while Lukas watches. He knows how good he looks shirtless. “I don't think you could stand getting any crazier.”

Luk’s eyes travel down the line of Matt's chest, following his fingers. “Pity. I thought that was what we were going for?” He can't help smiling, just a little. “I was hoping to stop thinking about the rest of the world for at least an hour.” He grabs the tie still wrapped around Matt's neck and pulls, dragging him in.

Mattias follows the pull, grinning into the kiss and sliding his hands up Norge's shirt. When he feels his tie being tugged free of its knot, he lets out a rough sound and pulls back from the kiss. “Hey. Don't steal.” He snatches the tie away, one hand skimming back down Luk’s stomach to trace cool fingers down his inner thighs. When Luk tries to take apart his shirt, he gets an idea. “Pushy,” he mutters against his mouth, grabbing one wrist and then the other. He pulls back to wrap his tie around them in a figure-eight, knotting it tight.

For a moment Lukas tries to look annoyed, but a whine of need betrays him. That, and the twitch of his erection. He has a...a _thing_ for Matt's ties. The man looks damn sexy in a suit, and they work well as a leash – for binding, too. He reaches up with his mouth instead, tugging Matt’s collar with his teeth. “Off. Take it off.”

“Shit-!” Matt gasps, his eyes widening at the spark of want in Luk's eyes, the way he's going at his collar with his _teeth_. Well, well. He kinda guessed he had a thing for his ties, but this much of a thing? He moves fast, groaning softly as those teeth cut into his throat. Isn’t tying someone up supposed to put _you_ in control?

Lukas follows the line of his throat, scraping his teeth along the skin until he closes them with a snap at the base, sucking hard to leave a mark. Since he can't use his hands, he'll have to get creative. He wraps one leg around Matt's, forcing him to fall onto the couch with him, and starts dragging his foot up and down his calf.

Matt throws his shirt off, making another noise as Norge sucks his pulse, making him squirm. Now that he's not busy taking off his shirt, he can do other things. His hands skim up Luk's chest, pushing his shirt to his collarbone and dragging cool, shaky fingers around his nipples, bringing them to stiff, aching points. “You're so hot when you're hot for me.”

“Can't help it,” Luk hisses, arching against him. “You make me want you so bad; maybe _you're_ part incubus.” He trails his tongue down to Matt's nipples, giving each a light, teasing lick before moving back to suck on the other side of his neck.

Matt can't help it either. Whatever this thing is between them, he's pretty sure he's the one in way over his head. But he takes the compliment in stride, his breath stuttering at each touch to his nipples and coming out in a sigh as that devilish mouth latches onto his neck. “I wish. I wish I could make you want me.” He really does. If he knew how he managed it half the time, Luk would be his, twenty-four/seven.

“I'd rather I wanted you of my own free will. And at the moment I do, so you had better do something about it.” He goes back to Mattias' nipples, nipping and sucking on the one. His leg moves higher, pressing a foot against Matt's ass as though he means to use his toes to pull his pants off.

Matt loses his breath again, his head falling forward as that mouth sucks and licks and sends white-hot sparks straight to his cock. Fuck, it's unfair how good that mouth is. He could be sucking his cock, it feels that good. He laughs breathlessly, his hands pushing Norge's wrists to the couch. “I will, man. Damn, you're pushy when you're being held captive.”

He grins at the look, dragging his hands down to Luk’s waist and holding him still as he bows his head to suck his nipples, offer him the same treatment. He does one better, palming Luk’s cock through his briefs, feeling the bulge already there. He loves this, loves feeling Luk grow bigger in his hand.

“Ungh!” Lukas’ eyes squeeze shut, hips bucking up against that palm. “You really were made to drive me insane.” He wishes he could reach more of Matt, but his foot won't go any higher and his hands are locked against the arm of the couch. It feels amazing, though. Just letting go once in a while, _hoping_ instead of worrying about what Matt will do, is like Valhalla.

Matt ignores the other nipple in favor of sliding his tongue down Luk’s body and moving toward that erection he's still rubbing. He pulls down the waistband, freeing his cock and letting him shift into his heat, kissing the tip and flicking it with his tongue. “That makes two of us.”

Lukas can feel the heat of his breath inches away, setting his blood on fire and making him shiver. “Matt...” It's a growl and a whisper, a warning and a promise.

Mattias grins ruefully at him, leaning down and taking him into his mouth, just the tip, his hands sliding beneath him to knead his ass, pull it apart. Sucking Luk off is a treat. He almost never gets this close, never gets to watch him let go with only his touch. “Relax, man. I'm on it.” He takes him in again, this time going further, swallowing him completely and pulling off again to begin a rhythm.

Beyond all reason, Lukas does. He actually trusts Matt - as much as one can ever trust an imp, and not that he will ever admit it. He moans, pressing his head against the cushions at the back of the couch while his hips rock, nice and easy. There are rough calluses on Matt's fingers from his ax, but that makes the touch even better.

Matt swallows around him, his hands dragging into his pants and squeezing those cheeks, wishing he could leave bruises he would feel for days. But last time he did that, Luk hit him with something heavy and left him with a lump that _he_ felt for days. He sucks, closing his eyes and enjoying the way those hips are lazily rising to meet him. He'll know when he's getting close. Luk gets more impatient when he's close.

This is nice. Strangely relaxing, in a way. Lukas’ mind is focused on the pleasure, he has no choice but to keep his hands still, and the way Matt's taking him in nice and easy builds everything slowly. Then Matt twists his tongue, and he groans, bucking harder into his mouth.

It's a failsafe trick: twisting his tongue around the head of that cock, sucking it without reservation. Luk probably didn't even know how turned on he was until Matt did it. Look at him, all blissed out, enjoying it because he can't fight it anyway. Matt lets his eyes wander to that face, that perfect face with those haunting eyes. He wants to take every last part of him, until there's nothing in him that's not as crazy, head-over-heels for him as he is for Luk. He swallows, dragging his hands down the backs of his thighs, feeling them tense and quiver with need.

This is the part where Luk’s hands usually end up in Matt's hair, digging in and holding onto him. He tugs at the tie; it would come apart if he pulled hard enough, but he's enjoying this game. It's one he's glad to lose. He starts rolling his hips, feeling more of Matt and his wicked tongue.

Slowly, Matt pulls Luk’s thighs up, letting them squeeze around his face as he starts to move faster. He can hear his pulse through the thick veins in them, he can feel him start to get tense. Fuck, it feels good to have him like this. If Norge could see how he looked right now, surely he'd forgive him for making inappropriate passes at him, at the most inopportune times.

“Fuck!” Matt gasps, pulling off for a second because that look on his face has him forgetting how to breathe. But he's back to it immediately, taking him in, his fingers moving back up his thighs and slipping between his cheeks.

“Matt...” Lukas groans, open-mouthed. His eyes are screwed shut and his fingers bend and stretch, vainly looking for something to hold. Matt twists his tongue again, fingers brushing against his hole, and his eyes go wide. “Matt!”

He's so close, Mattias can taste it at the back of his throat. This is the best feeling... Well. Okay, one of them. He sucks hard one last time, one finger breaching his hole, teasing him open and bringing him to the brink.

“Oh!” Luk’s hips jerk upward, his whole body twisting as he lets go. Matt swallows what he can and wipes the rest away, licking him soft as his own erection grinds into the couch, aching.

Lukas smiles, sitting up to kiss him and lick the bit of himself left on Matt's chin. Not a great taste, he doesn't know why Matt likes to swallow it, but he pushes his tongue into his mouth anyway. “I love the way you do that,” he says when they part. “Feels so good.”

Mattias groans into his mouth, reaching between them to untie his hands. Not that he really needs to; Luk would've gotten out of the tie if he wanted to. “Hell yeah, it does. I save my best work for you.” He jokes, pressing himself between his legs again so he can feel him.

Luk goes back to that lazy sort of grind, brushing against Matt's hard-on. With his hands free, he can finally run them through Matt's hair, bring him in close for a bruising kiss that is at odds with his hips. When he pulls away, he lies back again, dragging Matt with him. “Show me then. I want to feel you.”

Just the thought has Matt whining for it, his hands gripping those sexy, hard-angled hips and rutting up against him as if he were asleep, making love to a dream, rutting into the mattress until he woke. This is so much better than the dream. The body beneath him is hot, and very much there. One problem... “No lube, babe,” he moans against his lips.

“You’re an imp, and you’re telling me you can’t summon lube?” says Luk, raising an eyebrow. Matt looks completely ashamed of this, and he sighs. “I’m pretty sure we left some in here after last time.” He leans up on his elbows and twists to look over his shoulder, finding the bottle of lube sitting out on the side table. He hands it off without a word, then picks up Matt’s other hand and sucks on his fingers.

“You're kidding me,” Matt gasps, watching that tongue do wicked things to his fingers, his head swimming as he tries to remember how to breathe. It's not fair how good he looks like this.

Luk slides his tongue between the first two fingers, all the way down to his palm. “I'm not the prankster here. Do I ever joke?”

Matt’s jaw drops open in a louder, more desperate moan. He swallows hard, his breath coming in shallow little gasps as he leans in further and further, watching that tongue work its way around his fingers. “Oh, fuck Luk,” he curses, leaning in and catching that tongue with his own, following it back to his lips. He pulls his fingers away and drenches them in lube, then uses his other hand to get Lukas’ underwear completely off, as fast as possible.

Luk nips at his lip, tossing one leg over the back of the couch. There must be something in the air - probably a damn incubus - but he wants this. _Badly_. “Better hurry up before I change my mind.”

“You won't,” Mattias hisses, his hands pulling that lovely ass apart and teasing his hole with slick fingers. Pressing one finger into that heat, he groans a little at the tightness, pulling him even closer as he feels it spasm around him. “You want it bad.”

Luk’s eyes are closed again, biting his own lip against a groan. He's already getting hard, and he can feel Matt against his thigh. “Just as much as you do.” He breathes in, relaxing his body and willing it to stretch. Matt's making all sorts of little noises, probably doesn't even realize it...God, that's sexy.

Carefully, Matt works him open, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. “Not even close,” he retorts, pouring more lube into his hand and touching himself. He needs to get himself ready, even if his body's practically a live wire.

He's done all he can for Luk. Really. It's not that he's impatient or anything... Except that it is. He pulls Lukas close, lining him up and testing the stretch, pressing the head of his cock against him. “You good?” he asks huskily, leaning in to press their foreheads together, grinning as he feels Luk tremble against him.

Lukas nods, unable to speak coherently. He can feel him _right_ there and he wants it. Wants it just as badly as Mattias. He reaches up to hold onto his shoulders, digging his nails in.

Matt grins wide and easy, pressing in with trepidation and allowing him to adjust, even as he wants to scream, curse, grab him by the hips and plow him into this couch. That heat is so tight and unforgiving he has to press his face into Luk’s shoulder to hide the darkness of his eyes, the need for him that borders on obsession. “Holy _shit_ , Luk!” he gasps against his throat.

There's a moment where Luk honestly thinks it's not enough, but then Matt’s sliding further, right up against a spot that makes him yelp and thrust back. Matt feels him break, spasm, lose his head for a minute as he's thrown into an all-too-quick flash of heaven - one he needs to feel again. Soon they're throwing themselves into it, slapping together, breathing in sweat and tasting skin, doing everything, touching everything. Luk’s tongue finds its way into Matt’s ear and he almost loses his head, slamming into him with enough force to reflect his surprise.

Lukas licks and bites, nails scratching over his skin while the rest of him spasms tight around that cock. Matt's breath is hot against his neck, coming out in heavy pants, and the couch creaks beneath them in near protest. “Oh God!”

“ _Fuck_!” Matt yelps, breaking hard, coming inside him with the loudest moan he's ever let loose. It's unbelievable, how hot Luk gets him, how easy it is for Luk to make him let go. He groans, still rutting into him through his bliss.

Just that, the way Matt comes, is enough to bring Lukas to the brink. He ruts back against him, his own hand reaching down to tug on his cock. Matt kisses him through it, long and hard, holding him to earth as he lets him take off sky-high. The kiss muffles Luk’s shouts, his body going tight as a bowstring then shooting off like an arrow.

Mattias doesn't stop kissing Luk until he's limp against him, as if he might fall asleep at any second. With a sigh, he pulls away and presses his face into Luk’s shoulder. After a couple minutes of breathing, he presses his lips into his collarbone. “No chance you'll sleep this off with me, is there?”

Lukas sighs. He'd like to. He feels like he could drift off and forget the world. But, _someone_ has to round up all the dangerous creatures before tomorrow night. He kisses Matt and shifts, squirming out from under him. “I can't.”

Mattias groans, sliding up to pull out, watching himself spill onto the couch a little. “Well, you have to shower.” He grins, taking Luk’s hand and pulling him into his arms as he stands. It's so weird, feeling him this close after sex. Normally he's so quick to distance himself he leaves skid marks.

Luk rolls his eyes, but goes willingly. “I suppose we both do.”

With a smirk Matt pulls him out of the den, through the kitchen where they started, past the broken staircase and into the one bathroom he _hasn't_ booby-trapped yet.


	4. Blehmew!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a visit to Greece, Japan realizes that there is something wrong with his kittens - and it is clearly China's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! We have a particularly fun chapter for you today. Hope you enjoy it!

October 30, 12:40 PM

It began with a visit from China. As a fan of all things cute, China liked to see the kitties that crowded around Greece on a fairly regular basis, especially when he was "tired of dealing with mangy, stubborn, faithless dogs". Greece hadn’t understood that part, but the last visit was odd in a number of ways. China had gotten very close to him and stated how hungry he was. For a while Greece was pretty sure they were going to have sex, which was fine with him. But they never did. China just kissed his neck, freaked out, and started apologizing. He’d shrugged and gone for more snacks. When he came back a couple kittens looked like they weren’t breathing, but China played with them some more, letting them nibble his fingers, and they’d perked right up. The trouble is, now they are nibbling _his_ fingers.

Greece blinks, a noise from the front door breaking into his thoughts. He's feeling sleepier than usual lately, and he is fairly certain he's been seeing things. Like flying cats.

“Hera-chan?” Japan calls, letting himself in after politely knocking and waiting for Greece to respond. “I brought some food!”

Greece rolls so that he can see the doorway. “Oh. How nice.” Once Japan is close enough he pokes at him, just to make sure he's really there.

Japan raises an eyebrow. Greece is on the floor, half-naked, and poking at his foot. There is a cat sucking on his thigh. _SUCKING ON HIS THIGH_!  “Hera!” He cries out, grabbing the kitten and sweeping it into his arms, not caring as it hisses and yowls angrily at him. “BAD! Bad kitty!”

Greece frowns, watching the little pinprick bites on his leg disappear. “It's okay, he's just playing. They've been getting antsy lately. Maybe some of the girls are going into heat.”

Japan gasps as the kitten flies out of his hands and perches on the fridge, glaring down at him and licking its paw. His eyes scan the room... three, no four others. And they're all hanging upside down like bats from the ceiling fan. “Seen Yao lately?”

“Yes. Why? Did he say something?” Hera is fairly certain that Kiku would not approve of even the prospect of sex with Yao. He starts to sit up in order to defend himself, and the world spins. Huh. He's been getting a few of these dizzy spells lately.

“Hera!” Kiku drops to his knees, gently lowering Heracles back to the floor. His temperature is quite low; that’s not an encouraging sign. “He's... Ah... Well...” He reaches up to the counter and pulls down his thermos of tea. “Here. Drink this.”

Greece drinks, for Kiku's tea is always delicious. It helps his head clear, too. “Thanks. It’s weird, I don't know why that keeps happening. I hope I'm not getting sick.” With Kiku’s help he is able to make it to his feet, and one of the kitties from the ceiling glides down to land on his shoulder. It rubs his cheek affectionately until he scratches it, and then it starts purring.

Kiku glares at the kitten. It gives him a sly little look, purring against Hera's throat. “Oh no you don't.” He growls, lifting the cat and dropping it on the counter. He sets Hera down in a chair at the table and starts practically force-feeding him. “You need soup! And dumplings! And... and I have some bulgogi here.”

Greece pets the kitten on the table. It blinks at him with pretty little red eyes and he smiles back. “Aren't they sweet? I bet I could sic them on Turkey, with a bit of training. That would be fun. They seem to really like red, raw meat, though they lick it more than eat it. Strange.”

“Ah...” Japan shoves a dumpling into Greece's mouth. “There's something you should know about Yao. He's not exactly an average nation. At all. I made him promise not to hurt you, however...” He glares at the kitten, yet he can't help but melt when it rubs against his hand.

Does this mean Kiku knows about the almost-sex? Maybe Yao likes it very rough. That would explain his relationship with Ivan. “It's okay. I don't think I'd mind so much,” says Heracles.

Kiku gasps, drawing his hands away. “Did... Did he...?” He reaches over to check for scars. It seems the kittens have been everywhere. Thankfully, none of the marks are bigger than a kitten's mouth.

Hera swallows. He probably shouldn't say anything, but if Kiku already knows _something_ about the incident, he shouldn't hide the truth from him. “No, but we got...close.”

“Oh My God, Hera!” Kiku cries out, pulling him into a hug. He couldn't stand it if Yao did to Hera what he'd done to him so many times. Yao doesn’t even _care_ about Hera! What if he slipped up and drank too much? He'd lose Heracles forever. “Please, don't ever, ever let him! I couldn't stand to lose you!”

Greece returns the hug, shocked by how much it means to him. “You wouldn't lose me. I like you best of all.”

Japan sighs into his neck, his hands sliding into Greece’s hair as he pulls away to kiss him, worry tinting every sweep of his tongue. “It doesn't matter.” He looks over his shoulder and finds three cats now on the table, watching him with red eyes. Two others are on the ceiling light, and one more is flying upside down above their heads. Six, then. “Yao's... urges. Sometimes they go too far. You must be safe, Hera.”

Greece chuckles, offering deeper kisses in return. “I lived with Sadik. I can handle Yao. I bet his urges aren't nearly as weird.”

Considering the fact that just this morning Turkey had him wear a costume that resembled a harem girl while hand-feeding him sushi and warm milk, Japan isn’t going to argue. However, while Turkey’s habits are strange, they are not dangerous. He shakes his head. “Yao is a vampire. And it appears he's been snacking on your kitties.”

“So he likes to bite during sex?” That kitties are involved...well, the kitties always end up watching, but that's largely because they can't be bothered to leave. Greece shrugs. “Sometimes Sadik used the cat'o'nine tails.”

“No. Literally, a vampire- Wait. What are you talking about?” Japan jolts up, hands tacking themselves to his hips. “Did you have _sex_ with him?!”

Greece raises an eyebrow. “I already told you, no, we never actually did. Isn't that what you were talking about?”

“ _NO_!” Japan steps back and throws up his hands, scaring the kitties into flight. “You almost _had sex with him_?! And then he turned your kitties and left, is that right?! I don't believe this! I should've stayed at Sadik's!”

Greece reaches after him, catching Japan’s shoulder thanks to a flurry of flying kitties. “I don't understand. You mean the kitties are...you were at _Sadik's_?! You...you had sex with HIM! Why are you upset with me for something I didn't do, when you're the one actually screwing that bastard!”

“I'm upset, because he's a _vampire_!” Japan whines, taking hold of Greece’s hand. “A vrykolka? Literally. He's been sucking blood longer than I have been alive. And _my_ blood, too!”

Greece tilts his head, feeling that he should be a great deal more upset by this. Mostly he feels sort of lethargic. “A vampire? Really? Huh.” He shakes his head. “But...you had SEX with SADIK?!”

Japan groans, dropping his head back and rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Like you haven't?” he says, reaching up to feel Greece’s forehead before getting up and yanking open the fridge.

Greece opens his mouth, then closes it. He could counter with the fact that he's slept with a lot of people, so arguably the occasion(s) with Turkey counted less for him. But that will just get him into more trouble. He reaches for a kitty, kissing at it until it climbs into his lap.

“Blehmew!”

“BAD kitty!” Japan snatches the kitten out of Greece's fingers, glaring at it as it hisses, baring its fangs. “You need sugar. And food. Drink this.” He hands Greece a bottle of apple juice, still searching the fridge until he comes across the remains of a sandwich.

“I called her, it’s okay for her to sit. We just need to train them to bite Sadik instead. They're only babies, they don't know any better.” Greece drinks the juice anyway, playing with the kitties between sips.

Kiku shoves the sandwich into Hera's hand. “You can't train them if they think they can eat you!”

“You can train anything. Even Sadik - with the correct incentive.” Hera puts the sandwich down and picks up a kitty, cuddling it against his chest to keep it safe from Kiku. “Yao didn't bite me. So there's hope.”

“Yao didn't bite you because I threatened to chop his balls off last time he tried,” Kiku snaps, turning to the cabinets to see if there's soup or something he can heat up. Heracles needs more nutrients than that sandwich can give him. Physically and mentally, apparently. “You have Yao over for lunch, and you get upset because I sleep with Sadik? Honestly, you have no room to talk about bad company.”

“It's different!” Hera argues. “Sadik's a bastard. Yao's...a vampire, apparently. Lunch is different than sex.” He glowers, petting the kitty. This one is a little tamer. It rubs against him, but doesn't even try to take a nibble. “Good kitty! You're just hungry, right? We'll find you something.”

“Blehpurrrr,” says the kitten, kneading Mine’s veins.

“As if you never sleep with anyone else! I can't even count the number of times I've caught you _with_ Sadik! At least I don't throw stones. Yao is different, Hera! He doesn't need to sleep with you to _get_ to you.” He glares at one a grey kitten that is getting too close, making it change direction very fast. He has to help Hera come back from his blood loss. The rest of this can wait. “Eat your sandwich. And _do not_ let that kitten bite you. I mean it.”

Greece takes the sandwich. “M'sorry it upsets you so much. But it's not the poor kitties’ fault. We should find them a nice fat rat.” As if on cue, a little black kitten darts from the ceiling to drop a bloodless rat on the table, very proud of herself.

Japan sighs, knowing it's somewhat useless to fight right now. He crouches by Greece, running a hand through his hair. “I know it's not their fault. I'm sorry too.”


	5. Trolled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finland discovers evidence that Sweden may be cheating on him, and goes to Estonia for advice. Estonia and Latvia consider their options for the full moon: a cage, or dangerous freedom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing!
> 
> Since we don't make this clear until later, **Finland is a tonttu** from Finnish mythology, which is very similar to the brownie in English/Scottish folklore. They're fairy/elf type creatures that protect and care for the home.

October 30th, 1:00 PM

It takes only one sweep of a Swiffer mop to turn Finland's day from perfectly pleasant to a full-scale disaster. He isn’t expecting it, because he's made a thousand or so sweeps today (and the day before, and the day before that one too). He’s cleaning the master suite now while Sweden takes a shower, and when he pushes the mop under the bed something rolls out.

At first he thinks it’s a coin, but…no, it doesn’t look like his coins or Sweden’s. He bends down, frowning at it, and realizes it's an earring. An _earring_. Why is there an earring on their bedroom floor? His ears are not pierced, and neither are Sweden’s.

Earring in hand, he rises to his feet and brings it over to the little table by the window. Who wears earrings? Who wears earrings _in their bedroom_?

He stares at the trinket, his mind leaping to all sorts of conclusions. Then he hears the shower stop and gasps, suddenly terrified. He snatches it from the table, stuffing it in his pocket. He can’t let Sweden know what he’s found, not yet. Not until he decides how to confront him.

Down the hall, Sweden is staring into the mirror. His skin is getting all rough, and it's not just from the weather. How is he going to hide this? He supposes he’ll just have to refuse to be naked around Finland until it's passed. He starts getting dressed, hoping he can pass off the scaliness of his face as dry skin.

The door opens, and Sweden comes out wearing his long, cozy flannel pajamas. Finland always thought those were adorable. But right now, he averts his eyes and starts scrubbing the floor like he's trying to wear a dent in it. He needs a reason to get out of here. Maybe he can visit Estonia? They haven’t really talked in a while, and that’s a good enough excuse. He puts the mop aside and pulls out his cell phone, dialing fast.

“Hey Eddie! I just realized it’s been _ages_ since we hung out. How about we go grab some lunch together?” He shoots a glance at Bernie, who is staring at the floor with an odd... non-expression. “Oh…no, I understand if you don’t want to go out. But I _really_ want to see you!” He emphasizes the words, trying to make his friend understand. “Your place? That sounds perfect! I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up, pasting on a cheery little smile and giving the floor one last meaningless swipe.

“Y're goin' out?” asks Sweden, not sure what to make of the strangeness in Finland’s tone.

Finland jumps; he'd been hoping the phone call was enough, that he could slip out unnoticed. “Yeah!” He turns around, a wide smile plastered on his face. “Lunch at Eduard’s. You know. Just us. We haven't seen each other in a while. I just... Have to change my shirt!” He practically flees into the closet.

What worries Sweden isn't the look so much as the fact that he left out the Swiffer. Finland _never_ forgets to put something away. He picks up the mop himself and returns it to the closet, eyeing his wife. “Y'feelin' okay?”

“Fine!” says Finland, turning around only to realize that Sweden has him backed into the closet. Oh God. He doesn't even know what to do. “I'm fine. Totally good. Just... Gotta meet Eddie. You know how he is.” He rips the coral pinstripe shirt off the hanger, grabbing a steel grey vest that matches his trousers rather nicely.

Sweden raises an eyebrow. “Y'sure? No one's been bothering y’, have they? Heard Ivan's been sniffin' around.”

“I'm _Fine_ ,” he snaps, his voice edged like glass. Breathing in slowly, and then out again, he closes his eyes for a millisecond and buttons his vest. “Totally fine. All is right with the world. What could possibly be wrong?”

Sweden reaches out toward him, but realizes his nails are getting longer and snatches the hand back. Will it be too obvious if he wears gloves? “Well, if y'need anything. M'here.”

“I don't need anything, but thanks!” Finland says it too fast, too callous, and he slips past his husband as though he's no more than a concerned friend or a stranger. Does he really _know_ Sweden anymore? He can’t think about it. He flees, hoping Estonia has something stronger than tea around.

XXX

The house Eduard and Raivis share these days is a complete mess, messier than any other home Tino has cleaned in the last forty-eight hours. He's been working off his frustration and avoiding Bernie, but he can't get the shakes to leave his blood. He needs to talk to somebody. So he's here five hours later, _still_ talking to Eddie about absolutely nothing and polishing his bedroom furniture (he's vacuumed, dusted, mopped, and scrubbed down everything else).

“...so, I said I just couldn't _believe_ the state of his tile. I mean, I was like ‘Toni, the green is not grout. It's mold. And it's going to eat your flesh if you don't kill it now.’ It was disgusting.” He slides the rag over the headboard, smiling as the polish makes the wood shine like new.

Eduard is feeling rather shaky himself, but for different reasons. The smell of the cleaning products bothers him. It's getting rid of _their_ smell, and it makes his nostrils itch. But he won't say anything, because he can tell Tino is upset. It's best to let him chatter on until the truth comes out.

“I just couldn't believe it.” Tino can’t believe anything these days. He can feel his eyes pricking with tears, but he lets out a soft growl and rubs them away with the back of his sleeve, scrubbing polish harder into the wood. “I just…I can’t _believe_ he’d…”

Estonia sits on the floor so he can scratch at the back of his head with his foot. He's gotten the general story in bits and pieces. He can't believe it either. “There must be some sort of mistake. I mean...he's your mate. Mates are for life.”

“I thought so too,” Finland growls, not even realizing he hasn't mentioned the actual issue. “There must be some kind of mistake, some kind of fluke, because _I_ don't...” He trails off, his fingers digging into the bed beneath him. “But how else would it _GET THERE_?”

“What, exactly, did you find?” asks Estonia. Sex toys or underwear might just indicate a kinkier side of Sweden than he _ever_ wanted to imagine. But something in the wrong size, or something, ah, used, might make things worse.

Finland breathes in, preparing himself to say it, then lets out the breath because he can't. It takes him a moment to get it out, like he's been holding his breath against a foul odor. “An earring.” The word rolls off his tongue, through his teeth, hard like a marble. “Under the bed. Under _his_ side.”

Estonia frowns, but tries to keep his expression otherwise blank. That _is_ compromising. Sweden doesn't wear earrings, at least not that he's seen. Neither does Tino. He tries to think of who _does_ have piercings. Netherlands, maybe. Hungary. England when he's going through a 'punk' phase. ...Denmark. “O-oh. Well. You _do_ have a lot of parties, maybe someone was exploring your house or got lost when they were drunk.”

“We lock our room during parties. _Lock_ it,” he hisses, picking up the rag again. “I don't wear earrings. Very few people I let in our room wear earrings. But I don't know _who_ Bernie's been letting in our room. I don't know _who_ wears an ugly stone earring, unless they're trying to make some statement. I only know _one_ person who makes fashion statements.” He lets that hang in the air, cutting a sidelong glance to Eddie, watching his face to see if he knows anything.

At that Eduard nearly laughs. “Just one? I'm thinking of fashion week in London, New York, Paris, Prague, Milan...”

Tino growls, “Well, only a few other people have been _married_ to my husband. That's all I can say.” The thought makes him rub harder at the wood. There’s nothing left to polish and he can't stop now, so he jumps from the bed.

Eduard backs up, hunkering low to the ground. Tino is downright scary sometimes, and he doesn't want to be the next one on his list of possible scumbags Berwald might be sleeping with. He can't imagine Feliks and Bernie _ever_ getting back together. It was enough of a problem the first time around, when they decided Eduard was going to be theirs too; bad bad bad. The start of so many problems. Not that they themselves were cruel to him, it was just...well. Ancient history. Besides, Toris can be just as possessive as Tino. If Feliks ever showed up smelling like Bernie, there would be blood.

Finland starts scrubbing the mattress frame, and that's when he peers beneath the bed and sees something that makes him smile, just for the sheer oddness of it. A little book lamp has been left on, illuminating a lumpy pillow in an old pillowcase, about eighteen shoes and slippers, and several stacks of paperback romances he happens to know involve many a gay love scene. There's also a bag of pretzels. “What the hell...?”

Estonia blushes scarlet. “Oh. Um, Raivis-” A door slams downstairs, followed by feet pounding up the steps. He sighs. “We're in here, Raiv! Tino came over to...chat. And clean.”

Latvia shakes a leaf from his hair, pausing when he finds them both kneeling by the bed and peering under. Oh. He blushes hard, fiddling awkwardly in the doorway. “What?” He asks, as though the question isn't obvious.

Finland smiles a little wider, cocking his head to the side and giving the boy a look. “Looks like a pretty sweet set-up under hear, Raiv.” He reaches under the bed, pulling out a yellow, fluffy slipper with a smiley face on it. “But this is... Dirty.”

With a low, heavy growl, Latvia snatches the bright yellow slipper from Finland before he can get any of that nasty smelling polish on it. “It's fine!” He cuddles the slipper close to his chest, glaring softly at the two as he mutters, “ _FluffyfluffysmellslikeEddie..._ ”

Finland raises an eyebrow at the boy, trying not to laugh. “Oh. Well. Oookay then.” He coughs, looking toward Estonia’s blushing face. “I'll just leave you to that, shall I?”

Eduard looks between the two, blushing darker. His own collection is hidden in the back of the closet. Locked. His thing isn't so much the shoes, but he really likes Raivis' t-shirts. Sometimes Toris' too, when he needs more familiarity. They're warm and soft and they smell like home. “Erm...he...likes shoes...”

Tino tries to smile wider, but, they're so in love. The smile fades the moment he realizes he doesn't have that anymore. He has to get out of here. It's starting to feel claustrophobic. “I think I have to...”

Eddie frowns. Tino practically smells of sadness, and it makes him want to put his chin on his lap and give him a kiss to make it better. However, Tino will probably not see that as platonically as he does. “Maybe you could talk to Lukas? They're friends, right?”

The look on Tino's face makes Raivis drop his slipper. He almost whimpers, but he doesn't know how to make him feel better, short of licking his face. He doesn't think that will help. “What's going on?”

“Nothing! I'm fine.” He pushes past Eddie, heading for the door. It's too far away, in his opinion. “I'll call you tomorrow, if I can.” He leaves, the sadness that creeps over him almost choking him on the way out.

Eduard glances back at Raivis, wondering if he should tell him the whole story. Maybe together they could figure something out. But, it's a problem for Tino and Bernie to discuss. He shakes his head and licks Raivis' cheek. “Don't worry about it.”

Raivis pouts a little, leaning into Eddie and nuzzling his neck, pulling his arms around himself. “I heard he's been freaking out about something lately.” He winces at the sound of the door slamming.

“It's Tino. There's always something,” says Eduard. Though this...if Bernie really _was_ sleeping with someone, that would break Tino. Break them all. He hopes there's a better explanation. He's _sure_ there is. “We have our own issues to worry about. Like the smell at our gate, and how big the moon is getting.”

Raivis sighs, nodding against his neck. They really do need to think about themselves. The moon is getting high and round. Soon it will be time to either lock themselves in Norway’s basement, or go find their alpha. And that... that's a tough choice. “I brought steak for dinner.”

“Sounds good.” Estonia licks his lips, acutely aware that he's about to drool all over Latvia's shoulder. That's another problem they've been having. _Everything_ smells good when it's meat, including some of their friends. There's something inside him that is pure wolf; something that wants to run and hunt, to rip out a throat and taste blood, then roll around in the dirt for the sheer freedom of it. He shivers. He has to fight that urge, or he’ll end up forgetting himself. “Lukas will come. He always does.”

Latvia nods, pulling away and drawing Estonia toward the bed by his collar. “Use the time we've got, right?”

Estonia laughs, leaning into his neck. “You smell _amazing_.”

“I may have been hunting rabbit.” Latvia grins, tipping his head back and letting him smell. It was too easy to chase the thing into the woods and catch it. He hadn't killed it; he wouldn't let himself. That is for beasts. He isn’t a beast... yet. “I've been thinking of you since I left you in bed this morning.”

Estonia makes a noise in the back of his throat: a soft, low sigh of pleasure. “Then stop leaving me alone in our big, comfy bed.”


	6. Poltergeist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany tries to ignore Prussia's ghost, but the awesome dead will not be denied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Fair warning that there is some canoodling in this chapter, though it isn't very explicit.

October 30, 4:00 PM

Italy is in Germany’s kitchen, stirring a massive vat of tomato sauce, completely unaware of the change that is about to befall him. His change, like his brother's, comes once a decade or so. And, like his brother, he never really remembers it once he’s back to normal.

Germany has other issues to worry about. His dead brother is following him about the house, demanding beer. “C'mon, West! Just shake it up and spray it on me! I'm _dying_ here...metaphorically speaking, kesese.” He pokes Germany in the back of the head, his finger going right through. At least it still seems to annoy him.

It's a breeze, Germany tells himself. A breeze and his overactive imagination. He wheels around a corner, trying to drive the... the thing that is not there away, and heads into the dining room. There are baked, fried, and steamed tomatoes all set out on the table. He picks up a fried tomato and sniffs it.

“ _Whoa_ ,” says Prussia. “West, I think your little boyfriend's got a problem. I mean there's liking something, and then there's _liking_ something. He's got tomatophilia! Now then. BEER. Because at least I admit I'm an alcoholic.”

“Oh, shut up,” Germany mutters, nibbling the fried tomato. It's not bad with the breading. Leaning over the table, he reaches for another. Suddenly the table wobbles, his hand slips, and he winds up knocking his jaw on the table on the way to the floor.

“KESESESE! That's what you get for ignoring the AWESOME ME.” Prussia has discovered that he can actually _channel_ his awesome into objects and make them move. It's not much at the moment, but with practice he'll get the beer to come to him. In the meantime, he can wobble tables and shake the bed whenever West is trying to fuck the pretty Italian.

Italy peaks out of the kitchen and spots poor Germany on the floor. “Oh Luddy!” he exclaims, rushing to help. He inspects Germany’s head with tomato-coated fingers and kisses the bump on his chin. “You should be more careful, ve! Was it your back? I thought it was all better. It's been a while since you threw it out when we were having sex against the-”

While Italy continues to babble, Germany kicks his foot out and encounters... air. Of course. What was he expecting? This is all a product of his imagination, after all. He pushes Italy away and climbs to his feet. “Fine, fine. The table is just... lighter than I thought.” He rests a hand on Italy’s waist, drawing him in for a light kiss. “I see you have been cooking.”

“Si! We are having a grand tomato feast! Tomatoes are an important part of every meal. Tomatoes and pasta!” He kisses Germany again, licking his lips. “You taste good. You _feel_ good.” Another kiss, and his hand wanders low to leave a tomato-sauce print right over his crotch.

Germany makes a noise, pulling away from Italy’s lips to look down at the handprint on his best pair of pants. That's going to stain. On the other hand, Italy’s got a look in his eye that says if he protests the lovemaking he may lose an important piece of his anatomy, so he decides not to comment. “Well. You're in a good mood.”

“Oh, very! I don't know why, but I feel all light and happy! And I really want tomatoes. And after the tomatoes, I want you.” Italy pauses, tapping his chin. “Or should it be you and then the tomatoes? I don't want to be too full.”

Germany laughs a little, and decides that he doesn't really care about these slacks anyway. Some things are far more important. “You can have the tomatoes after, Vene. We will work up an appetite, ja?”

“Whoa, hold on! There has to be beer before the sex! Beer for _me_. You have to appease the one haunting you, right?” Prussia smirks, coming up right behind Italy and hovering over his shoulders. “Or I could just give you a full commentary, _little_ bruder.”

Italy waves his hand through the ghost. “That's not nice Prussia! Ludwig has a nice cock. It's thicker than mine! You can't drink our beer anyway.”

Germany flinches at the sound of his brother's illusion, pulling away to mutter, “Not real. Not real. Not real...” This is the kind of thing one seeks therapy for! “I think I - I must take a shower!”

“Good idea! We haven't done it in there in a while.” Italy grabs Germany’s arm, then pauses to run back to the kitchen and turn off the stove. Germany is still standing there when he gets back, and he happily drags him upstairs, singing: “Sexy-times with Luddy, hooray, hooray! We're going to do it in the shower, today, today!”

“But...but...BEER!” Prussia points at the fridge. Then, with a disappointed sigh, he follows. “ _Austria_ would get me beer.”

“Austria would get you-!” Germany sucks in a breath through his teeth. He can't believe he's arguing with a figment of his imagination, even as Italy is singing the Shower Time song, which he only ever sings when there is a very high probability of multiple orgasms. “Notrealnotrealnotreal...”

“West, come on!” Prussia frowns, poking at him. “I'm here! How can you ignore this much concentrated awesome? I'm getting really tired of it. Even _Vene_ knows I'm here!” This has been going on for ages. He doesn't understand why West continues to ignore what's right in front of him. All the time he's been getting stronger, from a whisper and a breeze to this visible form, and he's learning to make things _happen_. He's real, just as real as they are. And he wants BEER. Beer and sex. The last time he tried sex was when Frannie was visiting, and it didn't really do anything for either of them. THAT was depressing. So he’ll settle for the beer.

Germany is dragged into the bathroom, still chanting his little mantra. He can’t concentrate on Italy like this, can’t enjoy their time together. He needs to get away, to think. He tries to disentangle himself from Italy, even as his brother's illusion hangs right in his face. “Vene, I need a moment, I...”

“DAMMIT WEST!” The aura around Prussia goes dark and the lights flicker. There's so much static in the air that Italy's hair curl straightens. “I'm RIGHT HERE!” Prussia pushes Germany's chest with all the force he can muster - and suddenly, he's looking in the opposite direction.

“What the...” That's weird. His voice isn't as awesome as it usually is. And he can...he can _feel_ the clothes on his body, the ground beneath his feet. Germany, on the other hand, feels muddled. Lost, like his eyes have rolled back in his head and his mouth has gone numb, or he's being pulled by puppet strings. He tries to shout to Italy, but nothing comes out.

Italy turns, tilting his head to the side. “Hmm? Wasn't Gilbert just here? You're so mean to him Ludwig, making him run off.” He pokes him in the chest.

Prussia jumps at the poke. He _felt_ that. Really felt it. “HOLY SHIEBE. I'm alive!”

“ _Are_ you?” Italy giggles. His hands wander again, tracing the zipper of his pants. “Feels like you are. You're all tense too, and you're kinda making a funny face. Want help?” He leans forward, eyes closed and lips parted for a kiss.

Prussia frowns. Italy is going to kiss him? He's usually so upset when Prussia tries to grope him a little, or make the towel float to smack his ass. He looks down at himself and gasps. He's wearing Germany’s clothes. No...he's wearing _Germany_. Oh this is going to be good. “JA I do!” He grabs Italy around the middle, kissing him soundly and already fumbling with the clothes. First there will be sex. Then there will be beer. Then there will be beer AND sex.

“Mmf!” Germany is very vigorous tonight! Beyond that, Italy can hardly think. He just wants Germany naked with him, and he’s not really giving it much thought beyond that.

The real Germany is screaming, beating his hands against the walls of his mind, but he can't get through. The bastard! Gilbert is not going to get away with fucking his lover! Even if it is through his body!

Prussia has them both naked and stumbling into the shower by the time the water heats up. He presses Italy back against the wall and bites his neck. “Gott that's nice. I'm gonna take you so hard, you're going to feel both of us.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Germany has gone from screaming to begging to simply curling up in a little ball in his mind, praying for this to end. This isn't fair! It's like he's having an out-of-body experience. And now his clothes are everywhere! His shirt is even spattered with water from the shower.

It's very hard for Italy to concentrate with Germany sucking on his neck like that and gripping his butt, yet there's something strange. It doesn't feel right; it doesn't feel like Germany. He’s never quite this crass about lovemaking, even when he's being rough. “H-hey Luddy? Are you - ooh - okay?”

“Are you kidding?” Prussia pauses long enough to lean back and smirk at Vene. “I'm ficken AWESOME!” Then he kisses him hard, bodily lifting him against the shower wall. That makes Italy frown. That does not sound like Germany at all, although the way their cocks are rubbing feels really nice...NO! He has to concentrate. Something's wrong with Germany. He's not awesome, he's worried about his brother and...everything clicks.

“GILBERT!” Italy grabs the crucifix above his head (there's one in every room, just in case), and smacks him on the head.

“OWE! Hey, what the fuck?” Prussia is forced to let go and back up against the curtain, rubbing his head. “Jesus, what kind of games have you been playing?” Italy isn't smiling, however. He's looking very angry, and holding the crucifix over Prussia in a way that makes him cower and hiss.

Light cracks before Germany’s eyes and he jolts, pressing at the walls of darkness that have encased him, yelling _'OUT OUT OUT!'_

“Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine...” Italy recites his Latin perfectly, drawing on the power of the Vatican. Vat is a reclusive boy, but he resides within Italy's borders and is a devoted friend.

“Shiebe, ficken holle!” Prussia curses wildly, feeling everything _burn_ and separate, not just from this body but from the world. “Stop! Fuck, just stop, I'm going, I'm going!” He rips himself out of Germany and away from the stinging words.

The light explodes before Germany’s eyes, blinding him. He sways on his feet, stumbling from the shower and leaning on the towel rack to steady himself. That was horrifying. A... A seizure! It must've been a seizure! “Ah... Vene... I am feeling...” With that, he sticks his head in the toilet and vomits.

“Oh, poor Ludwig!” Italy puts the crucifix back in place and pats Germany on the back. “Mean, mean Gilbert! It's not nice to possess people, even when you're angry with them. It's okay, Luddy, you'll feel better in a few hours. He wasn't in you for too long and I only had to hit you once. Ah, sorry about your head. We can have sex after the tomatoes instead!”


	7. Incubi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France travels across the ocean in the hopes of finding a helping hand (or two). Canada, however, is having a similar problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoy the chapter, lovely readers!

October 30, 8:00 PM

There is creeping heat to France’s blood, letting him know with each beat of his heart that the clock is ticking and time is running out. If he lets this continue... He can’t let it continue. It’s as simple as that. His hands are shaking, his body is hungry for a fix, for energy, for _sex_. Since England is being stubborn and unhelpful, and Spain is apparently dealing with Romano, there’s only one thing to do: it’s time for a little trip across the pond. Canada may take some persuading, but America is almost always willing.

When he arrives at America’s house the little grey alien lets him in with the pleasant greeting, “Fuck you.”

“You too,” says France, thanking the stars he isn’t _quite_ far gone enough to try sleeping with an alien yet. He wanders into the living room, expecting to find his conquest playing video games. To his great disappointment, America is unconscious on the couch.

“Alfred! Alfred, are you alright?” he calls, shaking him. America reacts like the peacefully-departed dead, though France can feel him breathing. The boy is alive, but he appears to be completely drained. It’s almost as though another incubus got here before him. He shakes his head; impossible. There aren’t any others that can take down a nation.

He should do something for poor America, but he can feel his own time running out. He’ll find Canada and come back, once he has consumed enough sexual energy to keep his demon at bay. He pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and tucks America in, planting a light kiss on his forehead. Then he heads upstairs.

Canada is _shaking_. He'd gone downstairs earlier to see if America could relieve his ailment, as he does every month. Unfortunately, either the super power had less energy than usual or Canada required more of it, because America passed out before he was done. It must be the proximity of Halloween; things tend to get strange for him around this time of year.

France' voice at his door is like an answer to his prayers. He yanks it open, grabs the man by the collar, and drags him inside. “ _Francis_! Hi! It's so nice to see you! What brings you here? Oh, maple, who cares about that - let's go play Big Brother France and The Virgin Colony. You can plow my tracks of land.”

France squeaks as he's pulled further into the room. It's never this easy with Canada. His senses should be sending off a warning, but they're all rather overwhelmed by the burning of his blood, the sound of it rushing past his ears on its way to lower places. Who is he to question such a happy coincidence? He wraps his arms around Canada and laughs. “My dear Canada, it seems Angleterre has been _most_ remiss in your education. Let me rectify that.” He kisses him hard, kicking the door closed behind him.

Canada returns the kiss hungrily, his arms winding around France's neck as he rubs his hard-on up against the other nation, demanding attention. His blood rushes with the burn that makes his body shudder through every touch, every taste, every new sensation, and he starts yanking France's belt open, shoving his slacks to the floor. He affects a French accent, his hands already moving to places that are far from innocent or virginal. “Mmm, yes, I don't know _what_ you're doing to me, Big Brother, but I am so eager to learn.”

“What an _eager_ student!” France kisses down his neck and bites at his pulse. He rubs against his hand, his own fingers opening Canada's pants as he steps out of his own. Canada guides them to the bedroom, and France pushes him onto the bed. Mon Dieu, they've never gone so quickly...the poor boy must have gone far too long without sex!

Canada looks over his shoulder at the black tulip that has measured his need for sex since the day he hit puberty. It is wilting. He needs to fuck _now_. “Oh, Big Brother France!” he cries out, rutting his cock up against France’s and begging for more. “ _Please_ , show me pleasure, show me _l'amour_! Plow my land, fill it with your seed!”

“Merde!” France is burning, they're _both_ burning, so wonderfully that he almost wants to take his time. Almost. There's a much more persistent need for sex before things get ugly. Before _he_ gets ugly. He pulls a travel bottle of lubrication from his shirt pocket and covers his fingers. “What has Angleterre been teaching you? It must be _moist_ before you plow!” He presses one finger inside, surprised to find him already somewhat stretched. “Dirty boy. Have you been playing with yourself?”

Has he? All day. _All. Day._ It's the only thing that's kept Canada from jumping America multiple times, damn the consequences. He's gasping for it now, his too-long nails digging into France's shoulders and his ass clenching around that finger. “I _have_ , Big Brother. I have been trying to learn. It feels so nice, but I need something bigger. Something like your _cock_.” He growls the word, almost animalistic. “I want it inside, I want to feel the way only _you_ can make me feel.”

That’s more than France can take. He pulls his fingers out replaces them with his cock, thrusting all the way in. Oh, that's perfect! He groans and starts fucking him in earnest, releasing the wild demon he's just barely kept at bay for a week now.

Canada yells, his legs twisting around that half-clothed body. He throws himself into the thrusts, relishing their mutual, desperate need. His blood begins to surge and his nails rip into France’s skin as he holds on tighter. The angle changes so that France is rubbing right against his prostate, nearly annihilating him then and there.

France grins, doing everything he can not to be _completely_ selfish. He uses all his wiles, turning on the charm and trying to breathe sex and pleasure. It works better in dreams, but, c'est la vie. Canada’s body is hot and tight all around him, the sting of nails making his blood sing. He sucks on Canada's neck and wraps a hand around his cock. “Tell big brother how much you like it. Come!”

“ _Francis_!” Canada yelps, letting loose so hard that he can barely stay on the bed. But it doesn't stop when he comes. The heat explodes and consumes him and he cries out again, arching into the pleasure of the change; it’s almost better than an orgasm. His skin fades into lavender, his head sprouts little hump-horns. But - But _no_! This was supposed to _stop_ the change!  He writhes through it, fighting the pleasure until two huge bat wings pop out of his back, finally overwhelming him.

France shrieks in pleasure, noticing the changes in his own body just as Canada does. He pulls out and throws himself off the bed in a bid to get away before Canada realizes what's happened. He doesn't understand! The sex should have delayed the change, at the very least! Instead the process accelerates. His body twists and jerks, his skin turns grey, wings burst from his back, horns part his blonde hair, his nails grow to claws, and a tail sprouts from his spine. “NO!”

Canada gasps, crawling backward on his bed, his own tail poking straight up in the air in shock. “What the-?! Francis!” He cries out in horror, his eyes wide as he realizes what has happened. Two incubi do not cancel one another out.

France hides his face behind mutated hands, curling up and closing the wings around him. “Don't look at me! I'm hideous! Oh, cheri, please don't be frightened, I am sorry! I can explain, but...do not look, turn away!”

It is not fear, but frustration that has Canada picking up a pillow and hurling it at his "Big Brother". “Francis!” He shouts.

Shock makes France look up, and then he stares. “...oh. Well.”

There's silence for a moment as they take stock of one another in demon form. Sex demon, that is. Canada swallows hard, staring at France's storm cloud skin, his wide blue eyes now shining red. Those claws, those ram horns... His cock is getting hard again. _Resist_! He tells himself, but at the moment resisting just isn't in his nature. “Y-Yeah...” He blushes a little, part in embarrassment and part in lust.

“But _how_?” France whispers. It's impossible to keep his eyes focused on Canada's face. Not when the wings tore his shirt, and that tail is curling and uncurling over the edge of the bed. He wants to pull it. After all, he always liked it when England pulled on his. Not that he will ever tell England; he'd stop if he knew how much France liked it.

“W-well, when I came to visit you when I was little, I always read your books, and...”  Canada doesn't quite understand it himself. He only knows that there was one book he would always read before bed, and when he read it, a strange looking man would come to him in his dreams. The man would stay with him and talk until he opened his eyes, protecting him from bad dreams. But he said they couldn't 'play' until Canada turned eighteen. It took about that long for Canada to completely understand the promise he’d made, and its repercussions. However, right now he's staring at France's cock like it's a popsicle on a hot summer's day, and that seems far more important. He licks his lips, leaning closer. “Does it matter?”

“No...I mean YES!” France shakes his head. “Yes it matters! Oh cheri, I am so sorry! I never should have left that where you could find it. I did not want my curse to pass to you! My poor boy.” He's hugging him. Intimately. He does not remember moving back on the bed, or wrapping his arms around Canada, or- tongue! There is tongue on his chest.

Canada can't help it! Not in this form. He wriggles free of France’s arms, his lips and tongue making their way down France’s chest. “Mmm-hmm...” He smirks, his tongue flicking his nipple. “So, it doesn't really matter, right?”

It is only because France has dealt with this curse for so long that he has the self-control to push Canada away. “But it does! We _can't_! You saw what happened. If we keep doing this together it will get worse! The demon will take over, and there will be nothing of us left. Just desire, and a desperate need to feed off the sexual energy of our friends and enemies alike.” The thing is, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea at the moment. “We must find someone else before we both go mad!”

Canada can just barely pull himself back from France’s body. “But I want to... fuck. And you're a great fuck. Who else can we fuck like this? Can we... together?”

France swallows. Canada is a _gift_ , and one that's being offered free to him! Yet he, of all people, must refuse. “Together, but, separately. Someone must be in the middle. Oh...” He forces himself to look at Canada’s eyes, even though his tale is thrashing with lust. “What is wrong with your brother?”

Canada crawls closer, his own tail twining with France's as he wraps his arms around his neck and slides into his lap. “I may have drained a bit more than he could handle. I just thought, it’s _Alfred_ , he’s always full of energy. Apparently even he has a limit.”

France sighs and cuddles against Canada, petting that lovely purple skin. “You two are going to be the end of me. How am I ever to fix all that Angleterre taught you if you keep getting into trouble?” He shakes his head, wings twitching, aching to stretch. “We will have to find a different third, then.”

One clawed finger drags slow and heavy up France's chest, his lips pressing up against his throat. “Tell me you have somebody in mind.”

As if France can think at all! He drags an equally clawed foot up Canada's leg and shuts his eyes, practically purring. Purring! That’s the answer! His eyes fly open and he grins, displaying fangs. “Of course! Leave it to big brother; we will visit Greece! He is _always_ up for l'amour, and he's always asleep, so it will be twice as powerful for us. Ah, we are saved!”

“Yes!” Canada kisses him in celebration. Of course, the kiss results in more kissing, which results in petting, which results in... Something he can barely pull away from. “Right! Yes. Let's get dressed.”

France blinks. “Dressed?” Oh. Right. Naked incubi are likely to be shot on sight. With a sigh he pulls his pants over his aching hard on. He's not going to worry about the shirt; shirts make it too hard to fly.


	8. A Little Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incubi France and Canada visit Greece in the hopes of satiating their urges. Unfortunately, some vampiric kittens got there first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Please read and review - we love hearing from you!

October 31, 5:00 AM

The world is easy to travel through for fully-transformed incubi. They move just below consciousness, in the dimension that ends where human vision begins. It is a level below (or perhaps above) time and space, which can be molded by thought. This realm of dreams is home to them.

Unfortunately, France and Canada are easily distracted by one another, so the door they create to Greece's home has them arriving several hours later than they intended. They slip through it, staying just below consciousness so that they can watch without being seen by anyone who is fully conscious.

Greece is somewhere between sleeping and waking. The kitties have been snacking, despite the fact that they can get some of their own food now. It's just that there's so many of them! They're still kittens, after all, and he's their momma...sort of. He doesn't really mind; it doesn't hurt. All the bites just make him very, very sleepy. Then he notices an extra presence. He glares at Turkey. “What're you doing here?”

Turkey glares right back at him. “Taking care of your ass. Brat.”

“Have some juice,” Japan commands, practically pouring the stuff down Greece’s throat. He called Turkey over last night so they could switch off sleeping and caring for Greece, even if Greece continues to believe he’s fine. He isn’t. Even after a good night’s sleep he is still pale, still shaky, and still fading in and out of consciousness. The kittens that are curled all around him, napping contentedly, are no help either.

Greece drinks, still trying to glare at Turkey, but distracted by the strange fog over Turkey's shoulder. It’s dark and filled with streaks like colored lightning. Out from the fog come claws; he recoils, and then relaxes when he sees what they're attached to. Ah. This is familiar. He has no idea why he has these recurring dreams of France with bat wings, but they always end happily. “Oh. Hello.”

Canada follows France into Greece’s consciousness, sliding his hand around France's hip with a smirk. “Hi.”

Turkey yawns. He has no idea why he's here playing nurse, and yet... He sighs, grabbing more pillows and shoving them under the brat's head, his ears twitching as he hears a noise. Something... strange. Like a wind that came from within the house. He tenses, a chill running all the way up his spine, and hisses in unison with the cats. He moves toward the hallway to get away from the cold feeling, dragging Japan with him and trying to keep his instincts in check. “Something is _wrong_. I don't like it in here.”

Japan rolls his eyes. “Don't be so juvenile. You're here to help.” He pushes away from Turkey and returns to the bedroom. The kittens are all very much awake now, creeping out of the room with wide eyes and full tails. “Huh.”

France grins, his tongue darting over his fangs. “Are we interrupting, or did you just finish? You look so satisfied.” His wings twitch, along with other parts of his anatomy.

 “We were hoping you would play with us,” says Canada. He licks his lips and slips his hands down to France's pants, rubbing over his crotch.

Greece eyes them up and down. It's a nice view. _Very_ nice, with some tight pants that fit more like second skins. France's tale is crawling up Canada’s thigh, and Canada’s hands are roaming low. They're showering him with lust, sending it towards him in waves. Still, he yawns. One of the braver kitties hisses by his ear and chomps down on his neck.

“BAD!” Japan rushes over, picking up the kitten and shooing it off with the others. There's blood welling at Greece's neck. He groans, pressing his fingers over the wound.

Even the sight of blood makes France ache. He wants to lap it up, leave sharp little bites all down Greece's chest. Or let him do the biting. He's really not in any state to be picky. He saunters closer, sighing as Canada's hands fall away. “Play with us, Hera. You look tired; just lie back and let us do the work.”

Greece looks between the winged nations and the ones taking care of him. Such a proposal sounds perfectly reasonable, but it would hardly be fair to leave out his friends. “Can Kiku play too? And the bastard, I guess.”

Canada licks his lips and shares a gleeful look with France. “If you can get them to cuddle up and sleep with you, we may be able to arrange that.”

Japan is still leaning over Greece, trying to staunch the bleeding at his neck with the edge of his robe while Turkey goes for bandages. Greece doesn't understand why. It's only a kitten; it's not like it could have opened his artery or anything. He tugs on Japan's sleeve. “Hey. Come nap?”

“You _cannot_ be serious!” Japan yanks himself away. The horde of kittens has returned, gathering around Greece and just waiting for him to fall asleep. Nowhere is safe. He may never sleep at Greece's house again.

Turkey returns with bandages which may have unraveled when he realized they were part of a roll, and rolls can roll when you bat them around on the floor. Japan looks pissed off and Greece looks blissed out, which means he missed another feisty kitten. “Aw, fuck, brat! Can't you keep them off of you for a fuckin' minute? I don't even know if we have enough bandages!”

France kneels on the bed and crawls up the length of Greece's body. “You must have been a bad boy, to get so covered in scratches and bandages. Eh...” He pauses, tongue just beneath one of said bandages. “Why _are_ you covered in bandages?”

One of the cats flies by, hissing and scratching at the air where Canada is. Another five fly by the window, carrying a dog that is crying in desperate terror.

Too many people are talking at once for Greece to understand. He can't follow all the conversations, so he decides to go with the one that's easiest to pay attention to. The one with the tongue. “Kittens. It's okay, they're just,” he yawns, “playing. Need a little training. Or something.”

Canada jolts at the sight of the kittens covering the dog. It isn’t long before the cries stop. “Holy Maple,” he mutters. He grabs France's shoulder and shakes it, pointing at the creatures. “I think... Um... They're not just kittens anymore.”

France glances over. Clearly the kittens are possessed or _something_ , but Greece is all naked and cut up and fuckable, right here. “Oh well. They can't do anything to us. Now then! Mattie, what part of him do you want?”

Canada points to the paleness, the expression of bliss on Greece's face, the fact that there's a little white kitten _sucking on his shoulder_. “Fran, look at him. He's completely drained. If he has any energy left, it's basically how he's breathing right now.”

“M'fine!” Greece protests.

Japan yanks the kitten free from Greece's shoulder, ignoring her lamenting yowl. “Stop that!”

France frowns. Canada has a point. Greece is cold to the touch, and there are kittens everywhere. This could be a problem. He slides a hand down to Greece's underwear, trying to rub him to arousal. While it's clear Greece's interested, his cock only makes a half-hearted effort.

“Hm. Let me see something...” He swoops down to kiss Greece's mouth, testing the taste of him and trying to breathe him in. Usually when he does this he feels revitalized, pulling energy from the one beneath him. This time there's barely a little static. When he pulls away, Greece is panting and his eyes are half-closed. France sighs. “Damn.” He kisses Greece again, returning what he can; not that he has much to give.

Greece shudders, feeling like France was toying with more than his air supply. But now he's getting off the bed. He tries to reach for France, but his body is _so heavy_. Kiku says something and he looks up. There's a kitten hiding in the folds of his robe, just waiting for Kiku to lean too close to Greece. When he does, she snaps her teeth into his chest. “Clever girl,” he mutters, and promptly passes out.

Raising an eyebrow at the scene, Canada turns back to France and takes his hand. “So. Spain?”

“Usually works.” They disappear.


	9. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norway prepares for the arrival of some dangerous guests, but is interrupted by other problems.

October 31, 6:30 AM

The cages are mostly clean. He cleaned them yesterday too, but somehow Norway never feels like they are clean enough. It feels wrong to put nations in a cage, but how is he supposed to deal with the wolves otherwise? He does his best to make them comfortable, tossing a couple of Estonia’s shoes under one cot and leaving Latvia’s old running shirt on top of the sheets.

Every month he does this. It does get tiring after a while, but he supposes it's tiring to be cooped up in a cage when your blood is up and you're driven to hunt. Which might explain why one werewolf turned into six, despite his best efforts to keep them contained. He changes the locks every other month, but when the wolves do get out they’re almost never broken; they're unlocked. That means that either the wolves have opposable thumbs, or...Norway glares at his imp. “You have to _promise_ you won't go near them this month.” The locks are made of iron now; many magical creatures, including imps, can’t stand the touch of it. Still, he wouldn't bet lives on that holding back Denmark.

“I never have, dude. I keep telling you,” Denmark lies, because he can, because he really has to. It's totally not his fault that the Slavic nations get all adorable when they wear those hairy costumes that are probably a Baltic tradition he doesn't know about. Yeah... Licking his lips, he picks up a broom as if to help. “Why do they need locking up anyway? All they do is fuck and pace around.”

“And bite, if you get near enough and happen to smell good. You just don't notice because imps and demons stink to them. They prefer animals to demons, humans to animals, and fairies to almost anything else...and apparently vampires, but I would call that a special case.” Norway shakes his head. When the wolves get out, there is always carnage: saliva covered pixie wings, a human corpse or two, maybe a changeling or an elf. Lots and lots of dead wildlife. The worst, though, are the survivors. “That won't stop them from biting you if you bother them. I've dealt with them for a long time now; when the full moon is up, there isn't much left that's rational.”

“Hey, I get all irrational in the right moonlight, too.” Denmark grins, using the broom to literally sweep Norge off his feet. He catches him as he nearly topples over. “When the moon is full and the stars are bright, all I can think about is...” He trails off, grinning shark-like as he tightens his grip around that pretty body.

Norway scowls. “I told you this yesterday we would have to wait a few days. I'm too busy; if you distract me, something could go very, very wrong.”

Denmark chuckles, reaching up and tugging the hidden curl of hair Norge usually keeps under his hat. God, he’s hot when he gets all buck-wild. “What could go wrong? Your funky little sleepover? Hah - your parties are more fun than Tino’s.” Leaning in, he kisses his mouth.

For just a moment Norway relents, returning the kiss. Then he pushes him away and goes to the cot, fixing the sheets. They're old and grey, already torn in places, but he doesn't feel bad for using them with their guests. They'll be shreds by morning anyway. “No, Mattias.” At the very least, being down here with all the iron has got to be sapping the imp's energy.

Denmark pouts at the use of his full name; Norway tends to use it when he's all work and no play. Unfair, when all he wants to do is take him back up to their room and smooth the worry from his brow, fuck him into their pillows and curl around him. He's been tired himself lately, but fighting it. He can't stand seeing Norge so freaked out. Norge, who's never freaked out about anything. “C'mon, the thingies are fine. There are better things you could be doing, eh?”

“Things _you_ want to do. Sometimes I'm tired or busy, Matt, or I just don't want to!” Norway shouts, tossing a pillow onto the cot rather more violently than he intended. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, turning back to ease the blow. “Look, I like being with you. I really do. But when you keep-” The phone rings, and he groans. “C'mon. We're finished down here for now.”

Stung, Denmark steps back to let Norway pass. Well. Now he knows. Something hot and angry rises in him, and he kicks the bottom bar of one of the cages - instantly he’s jumping back with a hiss that he will neither remember nor recognize as his own. His skin feels tingly, like it's just been shocked, and his heart is beating too fast. Denmark is confused. Where is he? Why does he feel all fuzzy? What just happened? He heads up the stairs and finds Norway on the phone.

Norway rubs his temples as he listens to Japan ramble. Of _course_ , even the ones who are usually fine on their own are having problems today. “Wait, slow down. Vampire...kittens. You said vampire kittens.” No, sadly, he has not heard wrong. “How did that - never mind. I'm going to stake Yao later. So he's out cold, but he was seeing things? What kind of things?”

On the other end of the line Japan rolls his eyes and pets through Greece’s hair, raising a squirt bottle when he sees one of the kittens creeping closer. “He said that he saw France and some other person. And they wanted to have sex, but he's trying to be faithful to me. I... I also wanted to let you know,” his voice drops to a whisper, “I've been having... urges.”

“That appears to be going around. Anything specific?” Norway replies. He'd nearly forgotten about the incubi with all his preparations for the wolves and the fairies. He's going to have to find them, which will be difficult if they've gone full-form. No doubt they have.

“I'm sure you know what I mean, since you're the only one who's seen my true nature in the last century.” His hands are shaking, fingers shuddering with the want to... _reach_.

“I meant anything obvious? Like extra limbs?” Usually Japan is good at controlling his more primal nature. However, every century or so the urges get bad. It's probably been about a century since the last time this happened. Just _perfect_.

“Not yet.” Japan grits his teeth, his fingers dragging down Greece’s cheek and sliding over his lower lip. It feels so good to touch... No! He yanks his hand away. “But I'm about three seconds away from jumping Hera.”

“Okay, just hold on.” Norway takes a deep breath, hissing it out through his teeth. “Don't do that. The cats took a lot out of him and no doubt Francis took what was left. He needs rest. Juice, things with sugar. Possibly a blood transfusion. You need to keep calm, get some relief to take the edge off - if you know what I mean.”

“I can't, there's _no one_ ,” Japan replies, eyeing Turkey. He's sitting on the edge of the balcony rail, trying to catch a butterfly. “I am _never_ touching Yao again, and considering Sadik’s a neko, he may take a liking to me in the wrong way.”

“I don’t think he’d mistake you for sushi, if that’s what you- wait, how the do _you_ know about him?” Norway hisses.

“I've slept with him,” Japan snaps, his fingers dragging back and forth over Hera's lips, finally dipping inside, very gently. He bites back a moan. “Even if I hadn't, what kind of normal nation wants you to feed them anchovies and cream? That's just ridiculous.” He drags his fingers away, shoving them into his pocket and pacing away from the bed.

“Hera's slept with him too, though, and he doesn't know. Sadik swore he always did it...subtly.” Norway sighs. At least he is sure Japan can keep a secret. Norway, England, and Romania agreed long ago that it was best for the nations not to know about one another, lest they find a new reason to start a war. “Does he know about you? Because then you could just solve two problems at once.”

” _No_. And he's not going to. What would he think of me?” Japan blinks back tears as he considers it. “He's adorable. Sweet. Caring. Kind. They both are. I'm... I'm a freak. With twenty-one tentacles just waiting to be let loose. _No_.”

Those are not the first words that come to mind when Norway thinks of Turkey and Greece, but they're Japan's lovers and not his. “I'm pretty sure they would love it. But no, you're right; they shouldn't know. However, I want you to know I've dealt with monsters, and you aren't one of them. I'm serious, Kiku. You could be something beautiful if you would only see yourself that way.”

Japan rubs his eyes with his sleeve. “Thank you, Lukas. That is very sweet of you to say.” He sighs, squirting another kitten and watching with slight bemusement as a few of the others fly past the window, carrying another dog. “I think I'll call Berwald, see if he's willing to come check on Hera. He’s good with medical emergencies.”

“YES,” Norway says, a little too enthusiastically. Call someone else, _anyone_ else. England is half mad, Romania's managed to lock himself in some sort of parallel dimension, and no one else knows the whole truth. “It should be alright. Just keep an eye on him, and EYES ONLY. Get away for a minute to take care of yourself. Maybe a bath in salt water? It should slow things down, at least, until I can think of something.”

“Call me if you find a solution,” says Japan, hanging up after pleasantry-dictated goodbyes. He licks his lips, his eyes focusing on the prone Greece. So sweet... He wants to... NO. He squirts another kitten, and dials Sweden's number.

Norway sighs and leans back against the wall, feeling a massive migraine approach. Things will only get worse from here, of that he's quite sure. The truth is, he needs help. He can't do this alone. With the other members of the magic trio out of commission, his options are few. He takes another breath and opens his eyes to see Denmark looking at him cautiously, almost worried. That makes him smile. He reaches out and takes his hand, leaving plenty of distance so the imp doesn't get any ideas. “Matt, I need to make a very long distance call. Do you remember the runes?”

Raising his eyebrows, Denmark’s expression shifts from worried to confused. Well, at least it doesn't look like Norge is going to kick him in the balls this time. “Like the old alphabet? Sure. It got cool again a few years back, so I got them all tattooed on my arm, see?” He lifts his arm, showing off the runes that circle his bicep.

“That's right.” Norway smirks. Those tattoos were his greatest idea yet. They're like a tracking system for Denmark, even across dimensions - one simply never knows with an imp. Or Romania, apparently. “We'll go to the cave out back. I don't trust you with the crystals or the bones, but you can help draw the letters in the dirt. We're calling _Odin_ , alright? You have to remember that. I'm going to ask his spirit to join me for a while, to help with things.”

“Odin. Right. King-God. Totally remember him, dude. He was great. Just like me!” He grins, pulling Norge into his arms. “So, once you're done talking to the King of Asgard, wanna worship your earthly king for a little while?”

Norway smacks him away. “I am NOT having sex with you while I share a body with our old god!”

“Awe, c'mon! He'd enjoy it!” Denmark chases after him anyway, grinning. Man, once this whole party is over he’s going to remind Norway why they started fucking in the first place.


	10. The Short Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estonia is sent to bring Russia home before the full moon. Unfortunately, Russia is not alone.

October 31, 9:00 AM

Estonia has drawn the short straw again. He's starting to think Lithuania cheats. So now he's here, staring at China’s door, feeling more than dread crawl over his skin as he opens it and heads inside. China never locks his door anymore. No one dares to threaten him.

"Ah...hello?" he calls, too quiet to actually be heard. It's dim inside and he can smell blood. Blood and death and Russia. This is the one place that doesn't make him turn tail and run, because it always smells like blood and death. It's a strangely pleasant dead smell; not like rotting corpses, more like winter, when there is simply a lack of life and everything has gone pure and crisp.

Estonia wanders a little further into the house, his footsteps seeming to echo. "Ah...hello? Yao? Is, ah, is Ivan here? I mean, I smell him, so I know he's here. Can I talk to him? It's kind of important. Family business. But I promise not to take long!" He sniffs the air and cocks his head, listening. There are shuffling sounds coming from the next room. A very Russian groan, and a chuckle that might be China's. He blushes, wondering if he should just go. Unfortunately his mission _is_ important. Maybe if Russia is in a decent mood he'll come quietly this month.

China has taken Russia all for himself this afternoon, and decided to use the rafters in the parlor for their fun. He's tired of sharing his lover with a pack, but he can't say he doesn't understand. All creatures have habits. In his arms, Russia is surprisingly docile. Possibly because he's upside down, hanging from the ceiling in a way that is not natural to him. Lewdly, China licks Russia’s ear. "I've missed you," he says, one arm around his Russian, holding him to his chest, as the other strokes his cock.

Russia squirms against him. When they first started doing this, he was careful not to move too much; now he knows that China will not let him fall. Well, probably. But it's that danger that gives it such a thrill. China is gorgeous at this angle, his hair flowing down towards the floor and his snow-pale face achieving just a bit of color. Those hands seem to be everywhere, stroking his cock, reaching between his legs to touch where no one else is allowed. He groans, so wrapped up in his lover that he does not notice one of his pack has entered.

"Why don't you just admit that you can't live without me?" China chuckles into his Russian Wolf's ear, hissing softly against the skin. Russia is putty in his fingers when his biology is reacting to pleasure and gravity. "We are so good together, Ivan... You don't need anyone else..." He revels in the sounds Russia makes, licking his throat and finally sinking his teeth into the flesh, just a snack. Russia’s blood is delicious. He bites harder, his hand moving rapidly on that cock, making it bigger, getting it ready. He wants to see him explode everywhere. Russia always looks so happy, and besides - it's fun to watch Hong Kong clean it up.

Teeth, hands, fingers, nails...Russia has no idea what they're all doing anymore, nor does he care. When China gets like this he can do things that make no physical sense, things that can make Russia go absolutely wild. He's trying not to _howl_ , so he presses his face against China’s shoulder, accidentally tearing those teeth from his neck. That sharp pain makes him gasp and growl against China’s skin, driving him near to the edge.

The shuffling is loud in here, but the room is big and dark so Estonia can't quite pinpoint it. They're here somewhere. He can smell them. He shuts his eyes and lifts his nose to the air.

Something wet taps Estonia's nose. He wipes it away and blinks at his fingers. Hard to tell in the light. Does China have a leak somewhere? He sniffs it, and goes rigid. That's _blood_. That's Russia's blood! Another heavy drop falls on top of his head, and it is then that he makes his biggest mistake. He looks up.

They are...on the ceiling, and China is doing things with his hands that make Estonia want to gouge out his eyes. China twists his fingers, sinks his teeth into Russia’s shoulder, and the man loses it with a wild, howling cry. Unfortunately for Estonia, gravity is still in effect. He gets splattered with cum and blood, as if the sight alone wasn't enough to make him want to bleach his brain. The smell is overwhelming, and he stumbles out of the way. "Oh my GOD! What the _hell_ are you doing?!"

China doesn't hear Estonia screeching like a banshee until he's already making out with Russia, his tongue sliding hot over his mouth. Eventually, the sound filters through and he looks down. "Oh. Eduard, what are you doing standing in range of my target?"

Russia pants hard, licking his lips to find China’s taste somewhere beneath his own blood. It is really only when _China_ says something that he notices Estonia. He cranes his neck to see, and grins. "Hello Eddie. Oh...you have something in your hair. Did you know?"

Estonia starts frantically wiping at his hair, only to get it all on his hands. Oh...oh God. He is NEVER going to feel clean again. He needs to shower _now_. In fact, he may just shave his head and burn out his eyes. He doesn't need them, his nose is strong enough. But there will still be the memory. "Oh _GOD_." He flees, completely forgetting the purpose of his visit.

Russia grins. "This is fun. It may even be better than the time you fucked me against the wall outside...three floors up."

China laughs again, licking over the neck wound and letting his lover fall gently to the couch. "What do you think he wanted, aru?"

That hazy, post-orgasmic blood-letting settles over Russia, making his smile nearly serene. He lounges back on China's couch, watching his lover float above. "Does it matter?"


	11. Stone and Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweden faces the consequences of skipping the potion that keeps him human, and Norway has finally had enough of Denmark's impish pranks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing! We love hearing from you. This chapter is especially for those who were worried about Sweden. You should be worried - just not the way Finland thinks!

October 31, 10:00 AM

Sweden knows Finland is upset about something. Finland has been cleaning since he returned yesterday from Estonia’s, and now their whole house is spotless. Even Hanatamago has little bows on her ears. Sweden raises an eyebrow at that, but says nothing. It seems, after all, that the trouble has something to do with _him_. He wishes they could sit down and discuss things, but Finland doesn’t seem to feel like talking and he's been distracted. The changes keep coming, and the potion isn't working. Which...may be because he missed a dose. Or four.

Meanwhile, Finland has decided that their kitchen is _filthy_ , and is on his knees cleaning the oven. To anyone else their kitchen would look showroom ready. Finland, however, is not just anyone, and he's not happy with the state of their appliances. Scrubbing the inside of the oven, he ignores the sound of approaching footsteps, hoping Sweden will just walk away because he can't deal with him right now.

Sweden stares down at him, trying to decide how best to figure out what's going on. Part of him says the right thing to do is toss Finland over his shoulder, head for a cave, and never let anyone else look at his wife again. He suppresses that urge with a shudder. "Ah, Tin...didn't y'clean that this morning?"

"Lots of germs come through this house. More than I know, apparently." He scrubs harder, his whole body moving into it.

Sweden licks his lips at the sight of Finland bent over in his little shorts. _Just pick him up, take him away and_...NO. He kneels beside him. "Can I help?"

" _No_ ," Finland snaps. He pulls out of the oven and gives his husband a narrow-eyed glare. "You are _filthy_. Get out of my kitchen, Bernie, and don't you dare come back until you're clean." Scowling, Tino turns back to the oven. "Which may be never."

Sweden jumps back, stunned, and smacks his head on the counter. He barely feels it; another bad sign. His head is getting harder, his skull thicker. "Tino!" he cries in frustration. "Why can't y'just tell me what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's _wrong_?" Finland asks, sounding slightly crazy. "You. You're all wrong. You're a dirty, lying..." He can't even say it. He throws the scrubbing brush at Sweden and flees, running out their kitchen door.

Sweden pales. Finland must have figured out what he really is. He always knew Finland would hate him for it, would never want to be with him again. He _is_ a dirty, lying _troll_. Maybe if he tells Finland that he can fix this he’ll come back. He just needs more of that potion, and he swears he’ll never miss a dose again. Then Finland won't have to see him scarred, ugly, and green.

He runs after Finland, heedless of the sunlight - and suddenly his hand is heavy. He jerks to a stop and looks at it in horror. His pinky has turned to stone. Sweden dashes back inside and ducks down. He needs to call someone right now, before his whole body turns to rock. He'll call Norway! He always knows how to fix these things.

XXX

For the past hour Norway has been looking for his rune carver. He's about a minute away from killing Denmark. "If you don't tell me where it is _right now_ , I swear I will curse you so that your cock falls off!" Norway growls, the tips of his fingers sparking to show he isn't kidding.

"Uh..." Denmark backs away. In truth, he knows exactly where the thing is. Norway sent him out this morning to retrieve it from the altar, and since then he's been using it as a back-scratcher. Just before his back hits the wall, the phone rings. Saved by the bell, he darts into the next room while Norge is distracted.

With a growl, Norway picks up the phone. " _What_?"

"Luk. S'Bernie. Need y're help."

Norway groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Not you too! I thought Liza was helping you out? Her potion should be working just fine."

"Ah...well...s'not as fine as it could be."

Norway pauses. "...you stopped taking it again, didn't you?"

"No! Just...might've missed a dose."

"WHAT have I told you about that?!" Norway yells. "You can't miss a single one! Damnit, Bernie, I don't have time for this!"

"But it's awful stuff! Tastes bad and makes m'tongue heavy so I talk funny."

After a moment of benevolence (i.e., retrieving the back-scratcher), Denmark starts listening in to the conversation and laughs when he realizes it's Sweden on the phone. Stupid Sweden, always calling, looking for Norge. What a dick. Bitterly jealous, as most imps are, Denmark listens and plots his mischief.

Norway sighs, sliding back to lean against the wall. "I know, Bernie, but you're the one who has to deal with the consequences. Would you rather be a troll?"

Over the phone Sweden sighs too, deep and heavy. "No. I'll call Liza, ask for a new dose. But what can I do for now? Already changin', and I think...I think Tin found out."

"Tino...oh hell," Norway mutters. That's just _perfect_. A relationship crisis on top of everything else. "Look, I'm sorry, I really am, but you're going to have to figure that one out on your own. I can help you slow the changes, however, and give you some extra time."

"Thanks, Luk."

"Okay, now listen _very_ carefully. What you need to do is-"

The line goes dead, and from the next room Denmark laughs, rune carver and snapped phone wire still in his hands. That was the perfect moment. Priceless! Now Sweden can go fuck himself and Norge doesn’t have to listen to it. "Hah! Oh My God, Dude. I'll bet he's totally flipping out right now."

For a good, long minute, Norway keeps listening to the phone. He already knows it's dead. He already knows why. But some part of his brain cannot comprehend it. All in all, it just gives him time to work up to a truly impressive rage.

Denmark is still laughing, shaking with it as he heads to the fridge for water. "I'll bet you anything he's gonna come over here. I should totally set up a drop-bucket on top of the door. Water or something. NO, hot coals!"

Norway replaces the phone on the hook slowly, because otherwise he is going to slam the whole thing through the wall. This calls for extreme measures. If he can't trust the imp with a phone call, there is no way he can trust him not to interrupt the ritual.

"Oooh, no, maybe hot oil." Denmark is so looking forward to this. Maybe he should put fun-house mirrors up by the door so Sweden will think his glasses are bad and take them off. Then he'll be able to steal them and throw them in their fireplace! Though where would he get fun-house mirrors on such short notice?

Norway returns with measured, quiet steps. He'll need to surprise the imp if he wants this to be easy, so he takes the long way around to the kitchen. While Denmark is looking the other way, he grabs his wrist and locks it in an iron shackle. "I warned you, Matt. I warned you over and over again. This is for your own good, so that I don't end up throttling you."

Immediately, Denmark's face contorts into the most devilish incarnation it can express. He roars and screams, a sound so angry that it renders his voice unrecognizable. He doubles over in pain, still shrieking. "LUKAS! What the FUCK!"

Norway sighs, wrapping the other end of the chain around his wrist. "I _am_ sorry that it hurts you. But iron is the only thing that keeps you in one place! I just...you make such a mess of things, and I can't deal with it right now! You might think it’s funny now, but how funny would it be if Bernie really turned to stone?" The Dane gives him a look, and he backtracks. "Alright, bad example. I forgot who I was talking to. What if I couldn't get to the wolves in time? They could bite somebody - somebody you _like_."

Still hissing with demonic displeasure, the imp practically curses his way to kingdom come as Norway drags him outside. He's all imp now, clawing at the chains with long black nails; the iron draws it out of his blood. Little horns stick out through his hair, his skin turns pale blue, his eyes go red, and he pulls back black lips to snarl through sharp fangs.

Norway reaches the base of the biggest tree in his yard and points up. "Climb. Or I hoist you up with the chain."

With an inhuman howl, Denmark scrambles up to the highest branches, cursing and spitting all the way. Norway follows after him, wrapping the chain around the trunk as he goes. When he reaches the top he holds a hand out to the imp, still wary. There's always the chance Denmark will push him out of the tree; Denmark _would_ regret that later, but the imp would find it hilarious. "Give me your hand. If you try anything, I will leave you here with the shackles on."

Slowly, Denmark reaches out, everything in him shaking as he does. He doesn't understand what's happening right now. He is only pain, anger, hate, filth. He clutches the tree with one hand, hissing as he shows the other.

With gentle fingers, Norway releases the shackle. The skin underneath is an angry red, and he kisses it, feeling a little guilty. The minute the chain falls away, Denmark shakes himself out of it, looking around, not sure where the hell he is. He's high-up. There's Norge, and... leaves. A slow, dirty smirk comes to his lips. "Did you knock me out and drag me all the way up a tree to fuck? I didn't know you cared."

It's difficult to remain angry in the face of that reddened skin and his instantly amnesiac Dane. Norway sighs. "No, Matt. You were being...impish. I can't risk you trying anything stupid, at least not while I'm summoning Odin. Maybe, if you promise to be good, I’ll let you come down after the ritual."

"Come down? Dude, I can come down right-" Denmark tries to slide down the tree, but the chain brushes his shoulder. He hisses, glaring at the iron and shooting up into his branch again. Then he shakes himself out of it, blinking around. "Where am I?"

Norway shakes his head. He doesn't have time to explain this ten more times. "You're in Time Out." With that, he climbs back down the tree. At least Denmark left the rune carver in the kitchen, so he can finish preparing the ritual.

"Huh? What'd I...?" Denmark is about to slide down when Norway wraps a chain around the trunk of the tree. His foot brushes it, and he shoots back into the branches, looking down at the ground in confusion when he comes to again. This time, he decides he's going to stay in the tree.


	12. Transfiguration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany witnesses Italy's transformation into the most terrifying of supernatural creatures: the tomatofae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews, lovelies!

October 31, 12:00 PM

To Germany's great dismay, Italy's tomato phase continued. In fact, it grew worse. The incredible libido that apparently went with it worked in his favor, but even Germany has his limits. Those limits certainly end when he finds his paperwork covered in tomato juice after the last round on his desk. "ITALY! Come here. We need to talk about this...this unhealthy obsession!"

With a bright grin that is in no way appropriate for a chastisement or an intervention, Italy bounces into the room. "Ve, Luddy?"

There's something a little odd about him. Odder than usual. Something...sparkly. Wary, Germany steps forward and takes hold of Italy’s shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Clearly, he isn't. His eyes are wide, his grin is bigger than it's been all week, and he is practically vibrating with energy. But now is not the time for this examination. Germany pulls back. "Your tomato obsession has gotten out of hand!"

"Tomatoooos!" Italy’s eyes sparkle and he claps his hands. "We must prepare, we must honor the coming!"

"The coming?" Germany frowns, stepping back a little further. "Vene, what are you talking about?" He can see sparkles, slowly surrounding his beloved. Oh God... Dust. It has to be dust. Glittery dust, that smells like tomato sauce.

"Of the Great Tomato!" Italy exclaims, as though it is an event worthy of the utmost respect and awe. "It's getting closer now. The Great Tomato always arrives to bless the fields, and we must make sure that the coming is properly prepared for and celebrated!"

It is not just the "dust" now; his skin is glowing pink, and it's getting brighter with each moment. Germany’s eyes blow wider than his usual tea biscuits. He steps back toward his desk and finally falls over it, his papers flying everywhere. This isn't real. This isn't real. This is... Dust! Dust and light coming through the window, making his lover look pink and sparkly. "Ah, Vene..."

There's a buzzing in Italy's head, a call, a connection, a sign. He looks up and out towards the window, eyes gone very far away. Then, quite suddenly, he curls in on himself, looking as though he might be ill.

"Vene!" Instinct taking over, Germany throws himself from the desk and rushes to his lover. His arms encircle him as he pulls him close against his chest. The scent of tomato sauce is stronger now; it takes over almost everything in the room and steals his breath.

Italy squirms in his grip, until Germany realizes that it is not Italy squirming, but something in his skin. He tries hard not to panic, to settle into the no-nonsense commander. But his poor little Italy might be seriously ill, and he is frightened out of his mind. To make matters worse, Italy starts laughing. Laughing, and glowing brighter, with all that dust and something shifting in his back and - BAM!

Something bursts from Italy, sending Germany sprawling clear across the room. The red-pink light is overpowering, and combined with the smell it makes him want to be sick. Over it all, Italy shouts. "TOOOMAAATOOO!"

Germany grips at the wood of his desk, any vestige of the authoritative commander gone in a flash of panic. What... _WHAT?_ He doesn't know if he should scream or try to talk Italy back from the... the faedom. Wings are sprouting from his lover's back: giant wings, red and butterfly-shaped, but they look like they are made out of the largest tomato slices Germany has ever seen.

Italy the tomato fairy straightens slowly. He looks down at himself, glowing and covered in fairy dust. His shirt is ripped where the wings came through; he tests them carefully, letting them move and spread the joyous sent of tomatoes through the room. Then he looks down at his hand. There's a wand in it: a long stick with a little plump tomato perched on top. When he moves it, the wand leaves a trail of fairy dust in the air.

Germany lets out a funny noise, drawing Italy's attention to the desk. He cocks his head, observing his lover and the desk he is resting on. Huh; that paperweight. It is round, and that...is tomato. It should be a tomato. He raises his wand and points it at the paperweight. "TOMATO!"

Yelping like a dog that's been stepped on, Germany jumps from the desk. When he looks back, his globe paperweight is now a tomato. Raising an eyebrow, he looks to Italy, less scared but still wary. Raising his hands in defense, he approaches his lover. "Vene...?"

"Si?" says Italy, starry eyed as he turns to his lover. He frowns, noticing lack of tomato-based color in Germany’s skintone. "Ve! You don't look very good. Did you see Gilbert again?"

"Well, you see..." Germany takes another step and presses his lips together. "You are looking rather odd yourself. And wingy." Carefully, he tries to reach out and take the wand away.

Instantly Italy pulls back and smacks his hand with the wand. "No! Bad Ludwig, never touch!"

Yelping again in an exceedingly unmanly tone, Germany jolts back. "Oh Gott." He shakes out his hand, trying to recover. "Ah... Do you think perhaps you have had too much tomato?"

Italy narrows his eyes, and suddenly the room goes uncomfortably red and humid. "There is _never_ too much tomato. You must respect the tomato, Ludwig, or the Great Tomato will bring pestilence upon you!" Just as quickly, the feeling dissipates. Italy spins, getting glitter everywhere. "So play nice, okay?"

"Okay!" Germany says, feeling like he has just escaped the reaper; his strange, strange reaper, who is simply turning things into tomatoes. But his reaper all the same.

"Hooray!" Italy grins. Then he takes a slow walk around Ludwig, inspecting every inch of him. Especially the naughty ones. "Lu-ddy," he sings into his ear, "would you do something for me?"

Oh, that tone... even when he's acting insane, it makes Germany melt. "Anything, liebschen. Tell me what you want," he purrs, shuddering slightly as one of those wings caresses his arm.

Italy giggles, turning once more to line his front up with Germany’s, chest-to-chest. "The Great Tomato is coming for the crops, so that they will be healthy and plentiful. So you know how we honor it?" He licks up the side of Germany’s neck. "Lots and lots of sex."

"I can do that." Germany gulps, reaching out to rub his fingers over the wings. They actually feel like tomato slices, yet the way Italy reacts to that touch makes it all worth it. He still has no idea what the hell is going on, but he'll figure it out later.


	13. Barter and Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungary and Netherlands strike a few deals regarding the sale of potions, magical items, and the secret to attracting a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! We have one more nice, happy scene for you before all hell breaks loose. It's going to be fun. Well...fun for us!

October 31, 12:15 PM

The kitchen is warm thanks to a merry fire going in the hearth, its flames licking up the sides of a massive black pot. The smell coming from it is alluring, like a touch of perfume with hints of wine and chocolate. It fills the whole room and spreads its tendrils through the rest of the house. But there is something missing. The color isn't quite right; it's a murky shade of peach, almost shrimp-colored. Hungary taps her chin and looks between the pot and her shelves of ingredients. More rose petals? A dash of powdered incubus horn? Or maybe...

"Butterfly wings!" She begins pushing bottles and jars aside. "Just the thing to make the heart flutter. Though I may still need something for the color."

Just as she finds the right jar, her doorbell rings. Ah, of course. The Netherlands is always late to their meetings, and he always seems to appear once she's decided to get something done while waiting. At least this potion needs to boil for a while longer. With a sigh she pushes a few wayward strands back under the scarf covering her hair and answers the door, one hand on her hip. "You're late."

"You're pretty." Netherlands smiles, reaching up and tugging that stray hair loose again. She's always pissy when he's late. But she pays well, so they get along just fine. His coat is lined with magical items, worth a fortune if he sold them all at a fair price. Unfortunately, nobody is buying anything for fair prices these days. "Now that we're done stating the obvious, are you going to invite me in?"

"Hmm." She lets him stand there another minute, then steps back to let him pass. "You're lucky my stock is low. Come on, in the kitchen. I have to watch cauldron or it will over-brew."

Smiling a little wider, Netherlands takes her arm and guides her into the kitchen, sniffing the air. "Ah, liquid viagra. Who's ordering lust juice?"

Hungary smirks. "My most common customer: Belarus."

"My, my." Netherlands smirks back, taking Hungary’s hand and giving her a twirl. "I hope you're watering that down. Potent stuff, babe." He picks her up by the waist and sets her on her kitchen island, enjoying the sight of her in full kitchen-witch regalia - apron and all. "So, you want the specials list? I got some dragon tongues, believe it or not. Cost a fucking fortune. But for you..."

"For me...?" She leans forward with a wicked smile. They always play this way; flirting, bartering, and never actually going any farther. It makes business fun.

"For you... Four grand and a little bottle of what you've got cooking." He leans up and tugs her hair again. "I have to seduce myself an incubus, after all."

Hungary snorts. "Sweetheart, don't take me for a fool. You should be begging me to take a couple dragon tongues off your hands. You have nowhere else to unload them. Two grand, and half a bottle."

"Oh, I have plenty of places to unload them," Netherlands says, still holding his smirk. Not as many places now that England closed up shop, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let her off easy - not when he knows she needs the tongue. "Three grand, and a full bottle."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why do you even need a full bottle? Incubi aren't so hard to seduce, you know. Two and a half, and maybe I'll let you in on a little secret about harnessing sex demons."

"Two-seventy-five, plus a half-bottle and your sexy little secrets straight from your sexy little mouth," Netherlands winks, dropping back against the counter. "They're already cured. And I need the potion. My incubus doesn't want me to know he's an incubus."

"Ah, forbidden love! Well dear, you should have said so to begin with; I do enjoy a good romantic drama." Hungary shakes his hand before he can backtrack. "Deal. Now let me go stir that, or you will be dealing with the consequences."

"You're stirring more than a cauldron in that apron," he replies, pulling her off the counter and setting her to the floor. "Go work. I'll watch."

"Trying to learn my secrets? Such a bad boy." She laughs and sways her hips, grabbing the butterfly wings as she passes. She pulls three from the jar and stirs them in one at a time: a full stir to the left, half to the right, and then left again. "I have a list on the fridge over there. It's just the usual stock; you wouldn't believe how many requests I've been getting! Can you fill it?"

"Hmm..." Snatching the list from the fridge, he scans the paper and takes the ingredients from his coat as he reads them. "When do you need the mermaid's kelp? I'm clean out of that," he says mournfully. That's a high price, high quality ingredient. Hungary and others would pay a pretty penny for it.

"Oh! You can cross that off. It was the luckiest thing; Seychelles needed an energy booster, and happened to have some mermaid's kelp to offer for trade. Though I suppose one can't be too surprised. All sorts of things wash up on her island."

"That they do," Netherlands says, crossing it off. "I'll have to go see her. Always a pleasure, Seychelles. Much like you." There's more on the list. This is definitely going to be a good day; he's practically cleaning out his coat. "Jeez, how many orders are you backed up on?"

"At least ten," she says, waving her hand. "I'll get through it. Let's see...the color still isn't right. What does it need? Ah! A tomato!" She rushes back to her counter, picking a small one from the basket of vegetables and dicing it with a sharp knife. "What I wouldn't give for some tomatofae dust. It's so difficult to come by. Oh well, I can make due with a tomato and a little regular fairy dust."

"Oh, Honey..." Netherlands sidles up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, producing a vial of the tomatofae dust he collected from Spain's house earlier. "It's your lucky day. The tomatofae are in heat again."

Hungary gasps in delight, reaching for the bottle. "What's the asking price for this? Of course, if I wasn't so busy I could collect myself."

"Ten grand," he says, dangling the bottle above her head, knowing she’ll haggle. "You know how rare it is when it's out of season. This should be enough to carry you through to the next heat."

She turns in his arms to glare. "What sort of business do you think I run here? If you're not going to give me a serious price, don't waste my time. I'm already behind, and tomatoes are cheap."

"Mm-hmm, but tomatofae dust has its own qualities - particularly powerful, as you know." He gives her a smirk, still dangling the bottle. "Seven."

"Well, I'm listening. I could consider...five. And _you_ should remember you owe me a little hush money." Her fingers walk their way up his chest, resting just against his collar. "I know about your private collection. Who are you going to come running to when the creatures find out you’ve been hoarding their goods? England's tapped out, Romania is away, and Norway would just _love_ to watch you stew in your own juices. That just leaves one little kitchen witch, with a small collection of wolfsbane, garlic, and fairy charms."

"Five," Netherlands pouts, his fingers sliding down her back. That's unfair. She's made wide use of his so-called 'private' collection, buying incubus semen and renting the locket with a little of Finland's hair in it whenever she wants her house cleaned. But he likes her guts, and her smirk, and the way she's touching his collar. And she does have him there. "Five, and a kiss from a pretty kitchen witch."

Hungary grips his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss that is well worth the asking price. Then she pulls away and dabs at her lips with a handkerchief. "Must be the smell of the potion. You should see what happens when Roddy's around. Or Gil. Or Kat..."

"Oh, I would _love_ to." Netherlands drags his knuckles down her sides and gives her a rather sexy smirk. "Call them all over next time. We can make it a party," he says, brushing a lock of hair over her ear.

"And your incubus?" she replies, snatching the tomatofae dust from his hand. She slides out of his reach and adds just a pinch into her potion. Instantly it turns a deep, sultry red. Belarus will be pleased; though, somehow, the woman’s plans never seem to work out.

"My incubus is an incubus," Netherlands says, slightly bitter. "I'm lucky if I can hold his attention for an hour. Which is why I'm in need of your magical viagra."

"Well here's that secret I was promising," she says as she stirs. "Incubi feed on the energy they get from sex, so there's something that works far better than a love potion to attract them. They've got enough lust; hell, I use bits of their essence to _make_ it. However..." Hungary reaches over to the shelf where she keeps her recently completed and most popular concoctions. "An energy boost ought to help one sniff you out."

"Really?" Netherlands asks, raising his eyebrows as he takes the bottle from her. It's bright orange and it looks kind of radioactive, but if it helps him keep Canada in his bed for more than a night, he'll take it. "How much?"

"Three jars of eye of newt, two bottles of black cat tails, and a bag of charmed bones." All of that is on her list already, but this ought to take the price down.

"So you'll just owe me thirty," says Netherlands, not bothering to haggle. It's worth it. Anything for Canada is worth it.

"Done,” says Hungary. “Always a pleasure, my dear. My customers thank you as well; I do try to keep all my sales top-shelf. There's too much that can go wrong with bargain brands." Netherlands, of all people, should know that much. They've had their share of adventures with less-than-adequate magical items.

Netherlands laughs, reaching up to touch her cheek. "Did you ever tell Turkey about that side-effect, or did he just figure it out when he sprouted ears and a tail?"

Hungary blushes. "I may never have told him exactly _why_ that occurred. Just...you know, helped him handle it."

"That's my girl, drumming up business." He leans in and steals another kiss before she can stop him. "Bill me for that one," he murmurs, drawing away and heading for the door. "Come to the door in just your apron next time, and I'll give you half-off everything."

Hungary rolls her eyes. "Keep dreaming, Netherlands. I'll make sure I'm cooking something less intoxicating next time. Like a stink bomb."

"Oh, you wish it was just the fumes." He grins, waving over his shoulder.


	14. The Summoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norway's spell to summon Odin goes very, very wrong.

October 31, 3:09 PM

The ritual to make contact with the other side is approximately the same for any of the old gods, though Norway always gives Odin special treatment. An offering of beer is placed on their altar alongside the more traditional gifts, and Norway pulls up the hood of his long black cloak.

He is kneeling on the floor of the cavern, surrounded by nine ancient stones, each with a candle fixed to it. In the middle is a gnarled old tree, its branches reaching toward a small hole in the stone ceiling where the sunlight filters through. There is a noose hanging from one thick branch and a spear embedded in the trunk. This place is old, very old, and very secret and sacred. Every inch is covered in runes and the remnants of spells from days long gone. Only the runes carved into the trunk of the tree and the nine crystals around it are new.

Denmark, still in the tree, can only watch the light flicker from their ritual spot and wonder what the heck he's doing here. The dim light of the candles peeks out of the cavern, and it reminds him of the old days. He and Norge and stupid Sweden, all covered in dirt and blood, arriving here to pay homage. "Can't... help... lovin' those gods of mine..." Denmark sings to himself, because he has nothing else to do.

He swings on his branch, kind of enjoying himself. He just wishes Norge would hurry up and get him down. He's been up here for like... A while. For right now, however, he can stay in the tree, and if he's good maybe Norge will give him a sexy little treat. "Oh - Can't help...Lovin' that Luk of mine..." He changes the song, kicking his feet up and swinging around the branch. He nearly slips, but in the next second he's latched onto the branch, arms and legs locked to it, hissing at nothing. He shakes himself out of it and clutches the branch. Huh. He really needs to stop having these blackouts.

Norway takes a breath, forcing all other thoughts from his mind. For this moment he cannot worry about the werewolves he has to collect, the troll he needs to save, possible vampire kittens, or even a sweet imp alone in a tree. As he exhales, he lets them go and forgets who he is, where he is, what he is; he only knows _why_.

When he opens his eyes again, he begins speaking in Old Norse. His soft chant seems to echo a thousand times, other voices from other times calling out to him. He blocks them out, searching for the right one.

The candles flicker, and he feels his spirit separate from his body. Before he forgets the physical realm entirely, Norway takes up an old blade made of bone. He slices open his hand, then wipes it over the runes on the tree trunk. Their gods were much like them in those days: bloodthirsty. The pain barely registers, but as he traces blood across the carved shapes something else catches his attention. One of the runes is _wrong_.

The voice that answers Norway's call is not Odin's. It is a sly voice, full of clever tricks; a desire to help that is so at odds with its malice, it creates only chaos. It rings through his head, taunting and teasing, then diving down into his blood. "No...NO!" Norway shouts, scrambling away from the tree. "Get out, get out of here! I did not mean to summon YOU!"

The other spirit is too strong. It slams into his body with such force that he's sent sprawling back. He fights hard, clawing at the dirt, clinging to the world by his nails if he must. The presence of the spirit only becomes heavier, moving his body like some badly dancing marionette. It pushes him back, back into the dark, deep reaches of his subconscious, until a heavy door swings shut and locks him within his own mind.

Norway shoves at the door, bangs on it, tries to force the lock or find a window. There is nothing. Summoning magic drains him as it is, and fighting it has wreaked havoc on his spirit. He slumps in a prison with no walls, and the thing that has taken up residence in his body laughs. All at once, the candles extinguish.

There is darkness from the cavern. That should unsettle Denmark, but he's far too busy counting the leaves on this particular branch. He wouldn’t notice the hush that falls over the forest either, were it not for the sudden silence of the birds in the tree with him. Eerie. He holds his breath and listens for something, anything. Then he gives in. "Norge?" he calls, his voice soft to match the sudden quiet of the world around him.

There is laughter from the cave, rumbling over the hills and making the birds fly. Norway appears, looking down at himself and over the land as though he's never seen it before. He stretches and breathes deep. "It has been far too long."

"Um..." Denmark raises his eyebrows. There’s a weird look on Norge's face. And that's some laugh he's got going, too. "It's been like fifteen minutes, dude. I think. Since you went in there, right?"

Norway blinks and looks up, surprised to see the man in the tree. It takes a moment more of staring to understand that it is not a man at all. He laughs, and walks to stand beneath it. "Denmark! My old friend...why are you in a tree?"

"I... have no idea," Denmark answers, raising his eyebrows. "'Old Friend'? You are _so_ not getting laid tonight, just for that. Since when do you ever call me your friend? And _old_? Low blow, dude."

Norway frowns, then looks down at himself and remembers. Ah, of course. The dear fool doesn't know who he is talking to. He smiles, considering how best to handle the Dane. He could let him go; if Lukas trapped him in that tree he must have been causing trouble, and it is always fun to let an imp loose on the world. Plus, it has been a very long time since he enjoyed the kind of sex this world has to offer. "Apologies, _lover_. I am...tired. There is much to do and much at stake. Yet I think I must rest and catch up on things before we continue."

“Whoa. Okay. _Lover_?" Denmark frowns harder. If Norge ever called him ’lover’ before, it was under some serious duress. That's when it clicks. Something happened to Norge in that cave, something made him... Made him realize they're destined to be together! With a wide grin, Denmark clutches his branch, wishing he could jump down and dance for joy. "Oh Dude. I am so happy to hear you say that!" His voice chokes with emotion. "I love you too. So, so much, man. For all my life..."

Oh no. This is not what he meant at all. Norway steps backward, staring up at the imp with a sudden wariness. Love? Not just the sex? Well, well, his friends have been busy. He nearly pokes at Lukas' consciousness, just to taunt him. That spirit is sleeping soundly now, however, and he has no wish to provoke the headache that comes from having two beings argue in one body. It will be so much more fun to seize the opportunity to separate Luk from one who might help him. "You misunderstand. I just wanted the sex; how could I _possibly_ love you? You must be mad."

"Oh." Denmark's heart shatters. Why is he surprised? Why is he even feeling this pain? He should've expected this. Now he's clutching the branch, shaking, holding back the world's most unmanly tears. "L-Luk... Dude, if that's all it was to you, why didn't you say so?"

Norway snorts. "You really are an idiot. It's been that way all along. It's not my fault you can't take a hint." If there's even a chance Denmark gets close enough to recognize that his Norway is gone, it will ruin everything. He will have to leave him in the tree until he thinks of a more useful trap. "Goodbye, Denmark. I suppose I'll come back if I get bored."

"Wait-- Luk!" Norway is already walking away, and Denmark can't help letting out a sob at his back. "Luk!" He tries to chase after him, but again finds himself up in the tree, staring at the ground and hissing a few seconds later. What the fuck just happened? And why does he feel so sad?


	15. The First to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finland goes to Norway for advice, unaware that his friend is no longer what he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the reviews! Sorry for the wait; work is keeping both of us incredibly busy.
> 
> Note: Since it's been a few chapters since we mentioned this, a **tonttu** is a fairy/elf creature who protects and cares for the home.

October 31, 4:00 PM

Finland has no idea where he's going. His only thought is escape. His heart is broken, his marriage shattered, and the last person he wants to talk to is waiting for him to come home. Despair is heavy in his heart, and he can't go to Poland for answers. What if it's _him_ Sweden’s been seeing? Instead, he finds himself at his neighbor’s door, hoping Norway is home.

The knock catches Norway as he's ransacking his own desk, trying to catch up with current events and decide what game would be the most fun. It seems the fun may have come to him. Schooling his expression, he answers the door and looks over his visitor. He barely recognizes the nation for a moment. Could this really be Finland, the sweet little blonde that Sweden kept so close? Look at him now, all flushed and angry, and from what he's read in Lukas’ memories, quite capable of handling himself. It's hard not to smile. "What?"

"I…Bernie..." Finland doesn't want to say it any more than he wants to believe it. The earring, the shifty way Sweden was acting the past few days... And he hadn't even denied the affair, had he? Storming past Norway, he throws himself into the nearest chair, breaking down into heavy sobs.

Well, that's not what Norway was hoping for. But there's always something to be gleaned from a nation in tears. Norway shuts the door and goes to pat his shoulder, adopting a sympathetic look. "What about Bernie? Is he sick?" How delicious. It's been too long since he spread a plague - though that backfired. Nearly killed this one's body and wiped out anyone who still believed in him at all.

"He's - He's a..." Finland hiccups, face in his hands as he cries his eyes out, barely able to breathe. "Filthy, lying, cheating, _manwhore_!"

Norway blinks, then grins wide. Ruining relationships is another favored past time. "Is he now? Well, what did you expect? He's got the viking blood. Eventually he was going to get bored."

"But I- we..." Oh God, why is he protesting? It's clearly true. "I thought we were different," Finland says, clutching at his hair. "I don't even know what I'm going to do now! We're _married_ , I work for the UN, I can't even go to war with him like I want to!"

"Why not?" asks Norway, then realizes that's probably a suspicious response. "Why not get revenge, I mean. Make him pay. You could sleep with someone else." He trails his hand from Finland’s shoulder to his neck, rubbing gently.

"But I don't want to,” says Finland, voice broken and hitched. "I love him. I love the cheating bastard." He doesn't even notice Norway's attempts at flirtation when he bursts into tears again.

Norway rolls his eyes. "Love is stupid and human. You haven't always been together, after all. You’ve been with others, too." He rakes his nails through Lukas' mind, forcing his way through the memories until he uncovers something useful. "Estonia, was it? Lying together while Denmark had his way with the rest of us. Such cowardice. And later, even after you'd been with Sweden for so long, there was Russia. How cruel of you, to give in to the one who took you from him."

Finland grits his teeth, shaking as he whispers, "That was different. _This_ is different. It’s not politics, we're together. We're _married_." He shoves Norway away, pushing up from the chair and pacing toward the next room. "I love him. He betrayed me. He _is_ betraying me."

Norway follows him and leans against the doorway, arms crossed. "That's life. You of all people should be used to it. The question now is what do you want to do about it? If you don't want it to happen again, teach him a lesson. You have guns now, don't you? Shoot him in the ass; that ought to work."

"I'm not _shooting_ him!" Finland cries out, hating himself immediately as he says it. Yes, he's weak. Yes, he's stupid. But he loves Sweden, loves him more than life itself, and the thought of hurting him at all makes him sick. "What's _wrong_ with you, Luk?"

Norway smiles. "Nothing at all. I feel better than I have in a long time, actually. However, this is about _you_. You're quite right; shooting him isn't very creative." He taps his chin, letting the wheels turn. "Wolves are always a popular option. Or...huh. There's something..."

Once again he forces his way through Lukas’ mind, dragging out more information on this particular pair. He starts suddenly, coming across a sudden image of hulking green Sweden and a pointy-eared Finland. “Really now? Them too?”

Finland watches Norway's face. Something in his eyes, in the way his lips are curling, unsettles him badly. Something's wrong. "Lukas, what _is_ wrong with you?" he asks softly, examining the man's odd look, trying to dissect it, because he swears he's seen it before. Somewhere long ago, he knows it.

Norway frowns. Finland is catching on, and that won't due at all. Of course, he really should have anticipated this much. Finland would know who he really is, if he looked hard enough. Thankfully, he stumbled upon the prison cells in the basement while exploring the house earlier. He really does wonder what kinds of things Lukas has been up to that require a dungeon, but he’ll enjoy those memories later. "Perhaps you can help me. There's something downstairs, and, well...you're good with this sort of thing."

Frowning harder, Finland follows Norway down the steps, half-wondering how long it's been since he's heard him use the word 'perhaps'. He tries to wipe his eyes as they walk, but that makes it a little harder to see. "Does it involve polishing? I could use a good polish right now."

"Not quite," Norway replies. Lukas is stirring now, getting ready to fight. Oh, so he doesn't like locking away his little friend? He could do so much worse. This is only the beginning of their game, a defensive move. Norway pauses a moment and waits for Finland to get closer.

Raising his eyebrows at the sight of the basement, Finland reaches up to turn on a light. "Are those jail cells?" He's starting to get a really bad feeling. "Umm... Luk, you were there when I talked to Ludwig about this. You know secret jails really don't fly with the UN."

As soon as Finland is within reach, Norway grabs him by the back of the shirt and throws him into one of the cells. He slams the door behind him and locks it, laughing at the look of shock on Finland's face and the scrapes on his hands and knees. "Here's the thing, Tino. I don't really care about the rules; they've never applied to me."

Gasping with shock, Finland grabs hold of the cell bars and shakes them, trying to get out. "Lukas!" He yells, shaking the bars until he realizes they're caked in years of dirt and grime. He pulls away from them with disgust. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Making things interesting!" Norway laughs. "I was called to help, so help I will! Don't worry, I'll take care of Berwald for you. Perhaps if I lock him in with you, you two can make up."

"Luk!" Finland huffs as the other nation walks away. The door upstairs slams shut, and he’s left hugging himself as he looks around the dimly lit cell. It is absolutely filthy to the eyes of a tonttu, despite the efforts Denmark and Norway put in to cleaning it earlier. Finland strips off his shirt, curling part of it in his fingers and ripping it in half, then into quarters. It's not an awful cell. In fact, there's a bed that looks almost comfortable, a dresser, and a chair. Everything's covered in animal hair and dust, however, and he starts using his shirt's remnants to wipe it all away. He's good at cleaning. When he's cleaning, he doesn't have to think.


	16. The Zone of Permanent Neutrality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The incubi France and Canada find themselves in the most dangerous place in the world for supernatural creatures: The Zone of Permanent Neutrality. Fortunately for them, Switzerland is distracted by an awesomely annoying ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for another long wait, and thank you for the reviews! We love hearing from you <3

October 31, 6:00 PM

Unfortunately for the incubi France and Canada, Spain turned out to be an even greater failure than Greece. He was dealing with Romano, which should have been the best time to induce a little lust...but no. Apparently they had missed all the fun sex, and arrived just in time to watch Romano consume every tomato in the vicinity and grow a set of wings. Spain, brave and infallible country that he is, passed out immediately. That should have been the perfect opportunity for France and Canada to strike, but it turned out that Romano could see them in his tomatofae form. As it turned out, tomatofae are rather protective of their lovers (or perhaps simply their gardens).

"NOIDON'TWANTTOBEATOMATO!" Canada screams, fleeing the country with France. Last time he encountered a tomatofae, he spent a week as a tomato before anyone thought to look for him. He isn’t going to take any chances this time. "Hurry up, France!"

" _PIERRRREEE_!" France moans. His poor, loyal little bird never stood a chance. He only just managed to grab the little yellow tomato before Canada dragged him off. "It'll be okay, mon chouchou!" he promises the bird-turned-tomato as they fly. "We'll get you better, just wait. I won't let them eat you! Then we'll go visit Prussia, non? You and Gilbird can make beautiful chicks together!"

"OH TOMAAAAAAATOOO!!!" Romano sings as he flies after them. "Mi bella tomaaaaaaaaatooooooo! Come back to me, my tomatoes-to-be!"

Canada yanks France into the void they travel through, then pulls open the first door he finds. They both tumble out onto fresh green grass, breathing hard.

"Damn tomatofae,” says France, clutching Pierre to his chest. “Pests, is what they are. Every last one of the fairy folk, too - although I am rather fond of their habit of dancing naked. One of these days, I’m going to-” Suddenly, France realizes that the desperate lust that was pouring through his veins is gone. So are his wings, horns, and all other traces of the demon in him.

Canada, too, finds himself human again. It’s a relief to have a break from the lust that drives them mad, but it doesn’t make _sense_. "What is this, Fran?"

“I don't..." There's a little peep, and France’s dismay turns to joy. "Pierre!" The little bird flies up to land on his finger, ruffling out its feathers and looking rather bewildered. France kisses its head, laughing as the bird flies around their heads. It’s a lovely place, with wide, rolling green hills and an adorable house perched nearby.

The house is familiar – too familiar. France’s heart drops. "Oh no...My dear Matthew, we must make haste to leave. We are in that most dangerous of places: the Zone of Permanent Neutrality."

"Oh God," Canada gasps, scrambling to his feet. "You don't mean-"

The sound of gunshots cuts through the air, causing both incubi to flinch. Switzerland is shooting from the window of his chalet, thankfully towards the _other_ end of the yard. Squinting, Canada tries to make out who his target is.

When he was exorcised from Germany’s body, Prussia figured he'd haunt his _other_ favorite victim. Unfortunately, Austria was not at home. Even making the piano play itself to scare the housekeeper wasn't that much fun. Worse still, he was told that Austria wasn't there because he was busy with that stuck up prude _Switzerland_. In retrospect, it was really only a matter of time before he used his new-found insubstantial form to mess with them.

He has gained just enough control over his ghostly powers to toss stones and rattle the windows, but that's more than enough to annoy Switzerland. From just on the other side of the Swiss-Austrian border, Prussia yells, "Hey, honey, I'm HOME!"

Utterly shaken, Switzerland takes another shot. He only winds up making craters in his grass. "Get back here, Gilbert!"

"Darling, you know how much I hate re-sodding the yard," Austria sighs, leaning over his lover's shoulder. He’s a bit rattled himself; at least now he knows Prussia is just as much of a pain dead as he was alive.

Utterly delighted with the reaction, Prussia sticks a toe on Switzerland's lawn. "Oooh, look at me, I'm on your property!" The next bullet goes right through his chest and lands in Austria's garden.

"You have a pest in your yard, Roderick. I hate pests," says Switzerland.

"Ah- That's not quite a pest, dear," Austria replies, slightly stunned by the sight of the ghostly Prussia hovering above his edelweiss. "I'm afraid your bullets don't have much effect on the dead."

Once he’s managed to regain control of his own shock, Canada pokes France’s side to get his attention. "We have to move or he'll see that he has something living to shoot at."

" _Carefully_ ," France agrees. Slowly, the pair sneaks across the back way towards Germany, grateful that Switzerland’s focus is elsewhere. Thank God for annoying ghosts. They just need to cross over the border...

Prussia spots something in the distance. Is that..."HEY! Hey Frannie, Mattie! What're you doing over there? Hey! Hey watch this!"

France shuts his eyes with a resigned hiss. "That's it. I'm going to kill him – metaphorically speaking."

"Shit." Before Prussia's ghost can lead Switzerland directly to them, Canada grabs France's hand and yanks him over the border into Germany, just barely missing a bullet.

Switzerland curses. "Dammit! I'm expanding my borders!"

"No, you're not," says Austria, patting his shoulder. "No one will ever give you a wider range."

“HAH. Wider range. That's right, Vosh, what d'ya need a wider range for? Roddy isn't that big, and everyone knows he's the only one all up in your vital regions!" Prussia steps fully onto the lawn, intent on leaving as many ghostly footprints as possible. He wonders if there'd be ghostly residue if he tried to piss in the garden. Then there's a strange sensation in his gut. Heavy. Maybe he can puke slime! That would be awesome.

Switzerland flushes scarlet and shoots again, despite the fact that it's yet to have an effect. This time, however, Prussia leaps back and clutches his foot, pain lancing through all his toes. His fingers are wet, and he pulls his hand away to stare at them. That's blood. Which means... _Switzerland_ _has magic holy bullets_! "SHIT!" Prussia starts running.

"Is that...?" Austria narrows his eyes, leaning over the ledge as Switzerland continues to shoot. "Wait - Wait, Vosh! That's blood!"

"Of course it's blood! I shot him!" Switzerland snaps.

"But he's a _ghost_!" Austria shouts.

Prussia hobbles around on his feet, because for some reason he can't simply float. Apparently he has been taking this ghost thing for granted, because the blood and the pain and the heaviness of his body are no fun at all. He tries to run after Frannie, only to smack face-first into a tree. He’s supposed to be able to walk through things! Was it the exorcism? He sucks in a breath - and then it hits him. He's breathing. He's bleeding. He's..."Shiebe. I'm alive!"

Switzerland aims his rifle. "I can fix that."

"Darling, you know Finland will have your head if you kill Prussia _again_ ," says Austria, running a placating hand over his shoulder.

Vosh glares. "Please. Everyone knows you can't kill the same person twice. It’s a legal loophole, even in the UN."

Prussia picks himself up and waves at the house, shouting, "Vosh! Shoot me with more holy bullets! I wanna keep living so I can have sex and drink beer!"

Switzerland raises an eyebrow. "What on earth is he talking about?"

Rolling his eyes, Austria tries to pull Switzerland away from the window. "The Zone of Neutrality must cure ghosts as well as everything else. You really need to put up signs."

Switzerland snorts. "And have everyone wandering all over my land? I think not. Has Elizabeta finished that creature-repellent yet?"

"Busy season. She'll have it to you next week," Austria replies, then shuts the drapes and the window to drown out Prussia's shouting.


	17. Hallows' Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moon rises and the werewolves transform, leaving them under the deadly influence of their inner beasts. Meanwhile, Japan and Turkey attempt to save Greece from the vampire kittens.

October 31, 7:00 PM

Estonia can't stop pacing like a caged animal. The trouble is, he's _not_ caged. Norway should have been here hours ago. To make matters worse, he cannot forget the scene he encountered at China’s house this afternoon. He shivers and turns again.

Latvia does not pace when he's nervous. He sits very straight, gripping the arm of the wing-backed chair in their living room as he watches Estonia stalk back and forth. His breaths come in short and shallow bursts. He can feel the moon rising - he can feel it in his stomach, in his nerves, in his veins. He can practically _hear_ the moonlight washing over the world, a rust red color tonight that sends hunger rushing through his blood. "How long does it take for him to get here?"

"No' fis long," Lithuania says around the crust of his third sandwich. He’s eating like a beast, praying that if he transforms before Norway gets here he'll be full and lazy, not hungry and tearing at the walls.

"Something is wrong," Estonia mutters. They're all thinking it. The moon is rising and soon it will catch them. It’s already too late; they can't leave now, they will never make it to Norway in time. Maybe Norway already put a containment spell around their house? No, he would have told them. Estonia looks down and realizes there are long red marks on his arms; he's been scratching his skin, trying to get it off. He clasps his hands together and keeps walking.

Latvia starts to reach out, then pulls his hands back. He knows better than to touch Estonia without permission when he's like this. His heart is pounding, harder and harder, and suddenly he feels that gut-wrenching pain. "A- _Eddie_!" he whines, clutching his stomach. He's the weakest, and always the first to change. It's unstoppable, washing over him like a wave of nausea.

"Raiv-" Lithuania rushes to him, his body shaking and pale.

The blinds are closed, the shades drawn, but somehow the light always finds them. Estonia runs to his mate, wrapping his arms around the smaller form and holding him tight, as though that alone will keep him in this form. "Fight it! Lukas _has_ to come, he'll be here! Fight it Raivis, you can do it!"

" _Fuck_!" Latvia curses, clutching his stomach and squeezing his eyes shut. He's going to _scream_ in a minute. Every word rips through his teeth as though it’s fighting to get out. "Eddie!"

There's a loud knock at their door, and Lithuania runs to answer. Thank God. Thank God Norway is here before they're all turned. He can feel his own stomach curling, his nerves shaking on the very edge of changing. Norway will make them safe; he _has_ to. Yet when he opens the door, it is not Norway standing on the porch.

A cold wind bursts through the open door. Russia grins, his teeth a little too sharp and his violet eyes reflecting the dim light. "My little puppies are all together, just as I thought. I could smell you from miles away."

Behind him there is a growl and a snap of teeth. Belarus is proof that embracing the change does not slow it any more than the way the Baltics fight it. Already her face is getting long and her skin is growing white fur. "Do not keep us waiting, you wretched cur."

Ukraine steps onto the porch, already the she-wolf she loves to be. If she could be like this always, she would. It makes her stronger, better at asserting herself. She does, however, still fear her sister, and is careful to stay out of the way.

"Oh..." Lithuania's eyes widen, and he steps back before he realizes that he’s moved into the light. The moon fizzles in his blood. He feels his fingers changing, growing fat as his nails grow long. His stomach knots and his eyes flash.

With that howl Latvia arches, throwing Estonia away from him. He stares up at the figure in the door - and the moon right behind him. "No!" It's too late. It's always been too late. Estonia’s spine curves and he shrieks in agony, the change coming fast now.

Russia's eyes glitter as he watches his pack appear. "Shh, shh," he coos. "Let it be, you are free tonight! We are going hunting." He stays on the porch, letting his sisters prowl inside to take care of the boys. He takes off his coat and scarf, folding both carefully and leaving them on a chair. When he opens his arms and faces the moon, the wolf takes hold. For him, it is like slipping into another skin. Painful, yes, but easy.

"Oh G--" Lithuania drops to the floor, shaking through the change, but not screaming or howling like the rest. He's never found the change painful. So many worse things have happened, this is nothing. He holds himself through it, trying to breathe. The transformation is different for every one of them. Russia seems to have the easiest time, while Estonia reacts to it the way most people react to being burned. He curls forward on arms that are rapidly turning to legs, claws leaving marks on the floor where his hands used to be.

Fully transformed, Latvia nudges at Estonia with his nose. It helps to calm him until the impatient Belarus starts to snarl. Latvia growls and snaps at her in return until Lithuania barks. Now is not the time for fighting. Latvia lies down between Belarus and his mate, his new tail twitching.

Russia sits in the doorway and waits for them to finish. He can be patient, sometimes. They will be better hunters if he gives them the moment, and if he takes the time to observe his pack. Estonia pants through the last settling of his bones, and Latvia licks at his nose. Lithuania is on edge, watching him and ignoring Ukraine as she hovers nearby. Belarus returns to his side. It is only when she tries to nuzzle Russia that he moves, lightning fast with a snap and a furious growl. She rolls onto her back to show the white of her belly. He nips her throat once before letting her up again.

The pack follows their alpha out to the yard, shaking out their fur and testing their limbs. There, Russia raises his head toward the moon and howls. The sound reverberates through the others, vibrating in their chests until they, too, join in the call. Lesser beasts tremble, and even nations feel a chill. Hallows’ Moon is rising, and the wolves are on the hunt.

XXX

The sound of vampire kittens yowling at the red moon sends a chill through Japan’s blood. Due to the effects of his... less human instincts, he's resigned himself to sitting in a corner and not moving unless something tries to bite Greece. Turkey is being quite helpful with that at the moment. He's taken to playing with the kitties.

There's this ball of yarn, and it's just so very chaseable. If Turkey bats at it, the whole thing moves and the string looks like a mouse tail. The kitties all pounce and fly at it, and he runs after it too, unable to help himself. The cats nip at him sometimes, but he hisses in their faces and they slink away. This is actually proving a very entertaining evening, despite the fact that he’s stuck at Greece’s house. Not that he likes it or anything. He's just here because Japan asked him to be.

Meanwhile, Greece is trying to drink some of the vitamin-enhanced juice Japan gave to him. Only he keeps getting dizzy, or finding one of his fluffy friends purring up against his thigh under the covers. They appear to like it there, probably because Japan can't see them. He's having trouble remembering why that's not good.

"Hera...?" Japan asks tentatively. Greece is too pale, and shaking slightly. He reaches out to touch his forehead. It’s freezing, and Japan notices his own fingers are...not completely fingers at the moment. He snatches his hand back.

"He's cold,” Japan calls to Turkey. “Are all the kittens over with you?" He sees a wiggle beneath the blanket and nearly shrieks, yanking the covers away. There's a kitten there, sucking blood, and he shoos it. "Get away!"

The kitten hisses and swoops up toward the ceiling. It clings upside-down in the shadows above the lamp and glares at them with little red eyes. Greece tries to reach out, but his arm is very heavy and he feels like the room is spinning. "S'just a kitten...only playing," he repeats.

Turkey tosses the ball of yarn aside to distract the kittens and climbs onto the bed. He leans down close to Greece’s face and bats his nose. "Oi. Wake up."

Greece swats at him. "Nhg."

"Hera!" Kiku whines, his hands prodding at the two little bite-marks bursting with blood... Shit. His fingers are not helping matters, itching to transform and touch everything they can reach. "We need to take him somewhere, he's lost too much blood. I tried Sweden, but he didn’t answer and he hasn’t called back. I hate to bother Norway when he said he was busy, but this is an emergency."

"You're right,” says Turkey, his tail twitching down one leg of his pants. “We need to get him away from these hungry little bastards anyway, cute as they are." He wiggles his fingers at one that flies closer.

Japan slaps his hand. "Don't play with them!" He grabs Greece by the arms and looks to the neko with a little glare. "Help me. We should get him to the car before he loses consciousness. Get his legs."

Greece groans and tries to sit up. "Where are we going? M'tired. Can we nap outside?"

Turkey rolls his eyes and slides his arms under Greece. "Sure, brat. Leave the work to us - as always. Hey Kiku, I can get him if you just open the doors." He reorganizes Greece into a bridal-style carry; it's a lot different from usual, when he just tosses the brat over his shoulder.

"Of course," Japan says, releasing Greece’s arms to push on the heavy door with both hands. But Greece doesn't quite know where he is, so he flails and smacks Turkey in the face.

Turkey is used to such hits, and under normal circumstances he would avoid it. Unfortunately at that moment a horde of kittens comes diving at them from the shadows, apparently displeased that he is taking away their meal/mother-thing. The hood falls back off his head as Turkey ducks and bobs, attempting to avoid the kittens and the hands. "Fuck! Stupid little...Kiku, help, they're going to carry him off!"

Japan reaches out on instinct, tentacles coming from every finger to smack and shoo the cats away. However, because of their fishy smell, the kittens decide he might be tasty and start nipping at the tentacles. Kiku hisses and _shakes_ the tentacles. Displeased, most of the kittens fly off. But not before Greece opens his eyes.

There is far too much hissing; Greece doesn't like it when his kitties are in distress. He tries to say as much, but what he sees leaves him stunned. There's something slithering on his arm, and above, Turkey...has ears. Soft, fluffy, kitty ears on the top of his head, and yellow eyes under the mask. He blinks. "You're a cat." It's too much. He passes out.

Turkey looks down as the weight in his arms goes dead. It is only then that he realizes his hood is gone. "Ah...shit."


	18. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France and Canada wind up at Norway's house, attracted by the scent of power but side-tracked by Denmark. Japan and Turkey try to get Norway to help Greece, only to discover he may have been safer with the vampires.

October 31, 7:30 PM

As the incubi fly through the dream-world, constantly distracted by one another, they smell something _incredible_. More energy than they know what to do with; more than enough for both of them. They chase after the scent of it, full of laughter and lust, and finally tumble out into the open air above Norway’s house. “Really? I must say, I did not expect to end up here of all places,” says France. “Our dear sorcerer must be drawing that energy from the other side. _Our_ side.”

“Does it matter?” asks Canada.

France laughs. “Of course not! So long as he is willing.”

"The downstairs lights are on!" Canada points toward the house. "That's a good sign!"

"Most certainly," France winks, smoothly landing on the grass. He sweeps out his wings and entwines his tail with Canada's. Then he pauses. "Do you hear...singing?"

Canada blinks, looking up. There's a rustling in the huge oak tree nearby. And, yes, singing. His eyes narrow. "I hear it."

Meanwhile, Denmark has begun singing 'Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall'. For the third time. Not that he knows it's the third time, of course. But he does feel a vague sense of de ja vu, up here on the third-to-top branch, swinging his legs. "Eighty-six bottles of beer on the wall, eighty-six bottles of beer..."

"Take one down, pass it around, eighty-five bottles of beer on the wall..." Denmark sings happily, though he's actually quite bored. "Norge?" He calls into the darkness. "Can I come down now?" There is no response. Sighing, he swings his legs. "Eighty-five bottles of..."

"Perfect," Canada says, “a snack.” He licks his lips and heads for the tree, trying to look nonthreatening.

The trouble with being an incubus is that it's very, _very_ easy to get distracted. The moment an easier or more palatable prey presents itself, they instantly go after it. France grins past his fangs and follows Canada, swinging his hips. When they reach the tree he rests his body along the length of the trunk and purrs, his voice carrying the power of sleep and lust. "Good evening, Mattias. You look cold. Poor thing; you must have been out here for so long. Why not rest? We'll take good care of you."

"Why don't you come down here and watch the stars with us?" Canada says coyly, his hands sliding over the trunk, long nails digging into the wood. "It's a lovely night for it."

Denmark looks down at the voices. Whoa. Frannie and that other dude have really done it up for Halloween. He grins. "You want me to come down and...?"

"Oh _yes_ , cheri. We want you very, very badly. We could even come to you, if you'd like." France runs a hand down his bare chest, arching into it and moaning.

"Oh, hell yeah,” Denmark says happily, trying to climb down the tree as fast as humanly possible. But the minute he touches the iron chain, he hisses and flies back up into the branches. It's only when he's firmly seated on the third branch from the top that he shakes himself out of it and tries to remember what just happened.

Frowning, the incubi look at one another. "Per'aps we should go up to him?" asks France, spreading his wings.

"Yeah. That would be best," Canada agrees.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles..." Denmark begins all over again, kicking his legs out and swinging them. Being in this tree really seems to fuck with his concentration.

France launches himself into the air, then hovers by Denmark's branch. "Come cheri! We could carry you down, if you'd like! Though I make no promises as to where we will land."

Canada, too, takes flight, circling to face Denmark. "You can land on _me_ , if you want," he purrs, reaching out to touch their mark's pretty impish face.

Denmark blinks, shaking his head in disbelief. And then he lets out a scream. "BATS!" he yells, smacking one in its oddly nation-ish face. "GIANT BATS! GETAWAYGETAWAYGETAWAY!" He grabs one of the lighter branches above him and cracks it off, swinging it at them.

France shrieks and darts away, half tangling with Canada as they both fly. "Ah- wait, Mattias, it's- ow! stop it! - it's us, we just want...EEP!"

"TALKING BATS!" Denmark yelps. "HOLY SHIT, GIANT TALKING BATS! NOOOOORRRGGGEE!" He continues to swing, but loses his balance and just manages to grip the tree in time to keep himself from falling. His leg touches the chain and he climbs back up to his usual branch, just as he had before.

"Um..." Canada blinks, hovering out of Denmark’s range. Clearly, something about that chain bothers the imp. "Fran?"

France rubs his scraped elbow and hisses at the tree. "I can't decide if he's just playing a trick, or if something else is truly going on. Either way I am unamused. But! We have a Norwegian to fuck, don't we?"

Canada blinks as he remembers. "Oh, yes we do." He grins, taking off toward the house.

Denmark, oblivious to all of the previous events, begins singing again. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall..."

XXX

Having exhausted all the entertainment to be had within the house, Norway considers going outside to taunt Denmark before making his way elsewhere to stir up a little trouble. According to some _very_ interesting correspondence he has discovered in his host’s phone and papers, there are plenty of interesting things happening tonight, including a pack of werewolves. He rather likes werewolves; these might make excellent pets.

Just as Norway reaches the front hall, there's a knock at the door. It seems the entertainment has come to him. He opens it and squints at three figures on his doorstep; the rising moonlight is so bright that it leaves them in shadows. One of the three is carrying another; how delightful. He steps back to let them in. "What happened?"

"Vampire kittens," Japan seethes. "They seem to be very much attracted to Hera's blood. We need to stow him somewhere safe and heal him." It is only when he fully enters the house that he notices something is... off. Like someone dimmed all the lights, or closed every door and window. It feels stifling. He continues anyway; it would be impolite to mention such a thing. "We were hoping you could help us. There is a spell for this, isn't there?"

"Vampires, eh?" Norway asks, raising an eyebrow. Then he realizes exactly what was said, and cannot hide his honest surprise. "Vampire... _kittens_?"

"Yes; didn't Kiku tell you on the phone?" Turkey replies, shoving down the urge to let Greece's head smack against the door as he carries him inside - but only because he's already unconscious. The man is limp and pale as the moon.

Even Norway (or rather, the thing occupying his body) might not believe such a thing, but there are several floating, mewing balls of fluff following close behind the group. He lets a few enter the house, just to keep it exciting, before slamming the door shut. He grins when he hears at least one smack straight into the wood. "Of course. Bring him to the guest room upstairs, I'll take a look."

They follow Norway up three flights of stairs and around the corner. He seems to be purposely taking them to the back end of the house, but Japan can’t say for sure. He’s too worried about Greece.

"He's very bad off," he says softly, his hand supporting Greece’s head as Turkey lowers him to the bed. "He doesn't seem to understand what's happening to him. He's unconscious now, but when he was still awake he wouldn't let us keep the kittens away."

Norway hums in response, leaning over the prone form and laying a hand over his chest. The breathing is shallow and the heart is too slow. He can practically smell death on him, and he wonders who might come to claim a nation. Odin, Freyja, Hel? Probably not; probably one of this one's own gods. "He's dying," he says, without remorse or comfort.

Turkey starts, and then tries to pretend the thought doesn't worry him. "You can fix it though, right?"

"Oh Kami Sama!" Japan gasps, dropping to his knees by the bed and combing his fingers through Greece’s hair. "Please! Please say there's a way-" A vampire kitten lunges at Greece and he automatically tosses it away with a tentacle, then looks to see if Turkey noticed.

Turkey is busy appearing very intentionally unworried, but Norway notices. He almost reaches out to grab the tentacle, but decides that can wait for later. There is still fun to be had right here. He _could_ do just as they ask and heal Greece, then keep him safe. That, however, is much too easy, and there's a spell he's been wanting to try for ages. "I can do something. I'll need to get the right items together and find a place for the ritual. Perhaps the basement; I've never tried this before, it's always best to have a cage handy if things go wrong."

A...what? Japan looks up in shock, his eyebrows raising. "Isn't there a spell? There must be. Oh, Hera, come back. Please..." he whispers. But that skin is cool and pale, and he knows there's no way Greece is coming back without help. "We have to move fast."

"Not really. The body will keep for a night at least." Norway shrugs and stands, beginning to make his way toward an imp-proof cabinet of magical necessities.

"Wait - the _body_?" Turkey frowns, hand running idly over Greece's leg as he tries to keep the blood flowing. "You can't mean you're going to let him die!"

Norway waves a dismissive hand. "Oh relax, I'm going to bring him back. 'Zombie,' is that the popular term these days?"

" _Zombie_?!" Japan shrieks, jolting to his feet. Norway wants to turn Greece into a _zombie_? "What the hell is wrong with you!" he cries out, unable to contain his anger. "No! You will heal him! There has to be a way!"

Norway looks over his shoulder and smirks. "There is. I'd just much rather have a zombie, wouldn't you? Something to add to our little collection of monsters." He looks over Japan and Turkey meaningfully.

For a second, Japan turns white. "How _DARE_ you?" he yells, about to reach out and strangle Norway with his tentacles. "He's dying! You can't- Lukas, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

Norway laughs; low, wicked, and not at all like himself. "Oh my dear, such a face should not be wasted! The things I'm going to do to you!"

Turkey hisses, hackles standing on edge and his nails suddenly long and sharp. He steps in front of Japan. "You won't lay a hand on either of them, or I swear I will rip you to shreds."

One of the kittens hisses at his shoulder, baring its little fangs at Norway. Yet the man keeps laughing. "Adorable! I never expected it to be this easy to get everyone riled up."

"That's it!" Japan starts toward Norway with intent to maim, at least. "You will perform the spell to heal Hera, or I swear to you, I will-"

One of the kittens gets brave and actually lunges for Norway. It hisses, swooping down, claws and fangs bared. But Norway is too fast. He grabs the kitten around the middle, crushing its legs so that it can't claw and ignoring the little bites on his hand. He opens a window and throws it out, as hard as he can.

"No!" Turkey launches himself out the window after the kitten; it's just a baby, and dizzy like that the poor thing won’t be able to fly.

Norway blinks and raises an eyebrow. "...did he know we were three stories up?"

“Sadik!" Japan screams, throwing himself toward the window. No! No, he can't lose them both. He peers out the broken window, looking for a body on the ground. But there is none. Where could he have gone?

Norway looks over his shoulder, eyebrow arching higher. "Curious. Well, maybe he's in the bushes. Shall we go scrape him up? Two zombies are even better than one."

"Sadik!" Japan wails, pushing Norway away and running down the stairs, out the door. He has to find him. He might still be alive, they might be able to do something. They have to. He can't live without Greece and Turkey; he might as well jump from that window himself.

Norway follows casually, shaking his head. What kind of a world is this when a man jumps out a window to save a kitten? But then...Turkey is not a man at all, is he? None of them are. Perhaps there lies the answer to his boredom. A new plan begins to form in his mind, and he smiles behind Japan's back, even opens the door to let him out.

There, beside the door, stands Turkey, smoking. There are a few cuts on him from the glass, but he has an intact kitten on his shoulder. He looks up and exhales quickly at the shock on Japan's face. "What?"

"You- Sadik, you're-!" Japan's eyes well with tears of joy, and he throws his arms around Turkey’s neck, ignoring both the kitten and the cigarette to kiss the man full on the mouth. He revels in it, even the taste of the smoke, and pulls him as close as lovers can get.

Surprised but pleased, Turkey wraps his arms around Japan and kisses him right back, letting the cigarette fall to the dirt. The kitten yowls and he pulls back with a small smile. "I always land on my feet."

Norway snorts. Such foolish sentimentality. Well, let them make eyes at each other all night, so long as they stay out of his way. He has a zombie to make. The door slams shut.


	19. Wolf's Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poland is attacked by wolves in the woods. Lithuania races to the rescue, but can he take down his own pack?

October 31, 7:30 PM

It's a beautiful night. The autumn air is cold, scented with leaves and a hint of something less tangible. It calls to Poland's blood, making him feel warm and filling his head with visions of the world as it was and will be. Through it all there is a steady hum of music, drawing on his very soul. He wants to go to his favorite spot in the woods, where the trees open in a circle and the full moon shines down. The urge is so powerful that he leaves behind his shoes.

When he reaches the place, Poland pulls off his clothes: coat, shirt, pants, all. His body runs warm on nights like this, and dancing should be done naked if he wants the visions to come in clear. It makes him feel closer to the earth, to the rhythm of the world around him. With a smile he lifts his hands to the sky and begins to move.

His feet are light, but wherever he steps he leaves wet grass and the occasional sprouting mushroom. Come morning, there will be a circle of them, and anyone who steps inside (besides himself and his sweet Liet, of course) will be cursed with bad luck. Poland does not notice, however. His eyes are on the moon, and the world spinning around him. It takes on a dream-like quality, full of fuzzy, half-formed shapes as he spins faster. They rush past him in images he can barely comprehend, past and present and future all mixed together. It’s a wild, wonderful rush, and later he will take the time to sort the warnings and the blessings, to try and see if there’s anything he can do to prevent future tragedies.

Tonight he sees an iron wolf running from the moon, a tentacle wrapped gently in fur, a black-robed figure sharing wine with a demon, a tomato with wings. There are three boys kneeling before an old man with one eye. One is made of stone, the other fire, and the last of light. Poland falls into old man’s empty socket, and on the other side there is just one kneeling, screaming and tugging at his hair until a taint of darkness swallows up his light. Then they’re in a bedroom, where the dark one is having sex with two demons, all teeth and claws.

The vision whirls away, on to other things, other places. Through it all, Poland dances.

XXX

The scent of him is not heavy, but it is powerful to those who can smell it. It is a beautiful night, after all, and a perfect one for hunting. With his sharp teeth bared in hunger, the white wolf turns toward the smell, followed by Estonia and Latvia. The wolves are moving through the forest in teams - Russia sent Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania to the east while he and the others head west. He should wait for the rest of them now that prey has been found, but the smell is too enticing. Russia has never been known to resist temptation; he is Alpha, anyway, and he always gets the first bite.

As they get closer, Russia hunkers down to better stalk their prey, and his pups do the same. They can be nearly silent when they want to, although they are so much bigger than normal wolves - except for Latvia, who might be mistaken for a particularly large dog. From here the smell is overpowering, mouthwatering, enough to make their bellies rumble. Russia eyes the figure from the darkness of the surrounding trees. Blonde, pale, nearly glowing as he dances under the moon. A Wila. Russia licks his lips; fairy-types are a rare delicacy.

If Estonia or Latvia had any presence of mind, they would be trying to find some way to distract Russia. It's clearly Poland, after all, dancing naked in the moonlight. But both their minds have been lost to the wolf, and all they can see is a tasty-looking fairy.

The visions are still filling Poland’s head. He is vaguely aware that there's something out there in the forest, but there are always animals. It is only when he hears the growl, low and dangerous, that he stops. It resonates badly with the music in his head, forcing the images to an abrupt halt.

He turns away from the moon, and then sees the eyes glowing in the trees. A wolf. His eyes adjust. No, _three_ wolves, all baring their teeth. Most of the animals in these woods are friendly to him, but these clearly do not belong. Slowly, Poland backs away. "H-hey there doggies. _Nice_ doggies."

Russia growls and snaps, prowling closer, looking for his vulnerable points. He does recognize that this is Lithuania's mate, but that's hardly important. This is _prey_ , prey that smells absolutely irresistible. He could not stop himself if he wanted to. The Wila reaches for something on the ground, and Russia pounces.

Poland swings a broken branch into his path, thick enough to smack the massive teeth away from his neck. But waving a stick around is hardly enough to deter the wolf. Russia rushes forward again, knocking Poland back and snapping his stick in two. Poland scrambles for the nearest tree and tries to climb it, but the wolf is right behind him. He kicks it once as he struggles to pull himself into the branches. Then sharp teeth sink into his calf and drag him back to the ground.

A scream peals through the air. Lithuania's heart thuds inside his chest, and he raises his head toward the sound. That wasn't an animal; that was a man. That was _Poland_. He bolts, not caring about Ukraine or Belarus or anyone else - just that scream.

It's already too late by the time he gets close enough to smell them. The scent of his lover’s blood is heavy in the air. He snarls, barreling towards it. Screw Alphas, Omegas, _everything_. This is his _mate_.

Meanwhile, Poland kicks out with his good leg, desperate to make the wolf release him. The jaw is locked so tight around his calf he swears the bone must have snapped. He makes contact near the wolf’s eye and it finally releases him with a growl. Poland scrambles back toward the tree, looking for something, _anything_ to defend himself. The smaller wolves are between him and his clothes, and his attacker laps at the blood on the ground. It’s practically _sneering_ at him.

Russia savors the blood on his tongue, a nectar made for gods. He knew this one would taste sweet, and now that scent is everywhere. Even Estonia and Latvia prowl forward, coming too close until he snaps at them. This is _his_ kill to make. He looms over Poland and opens his jaws, ready to break his neck.

With a howl of anger, Lithuania leaps into the fray, throwing himself at the great white wolf Russia has become. He butts him directly in the side and slams him away from Poland. The blow knocks them both into a nearby tree, but Lithuania knows this isn't over. He has to shake it off - has to _move_. He rolls away, trying to get out of Russia's reach and just barely succeeding. There is rage in those violet eyes, anger at the defiance Lithuania is displaying, but he will not yield. He snarls and they begin to circle each other, resolved to fight.

Russia is absolutely livid that one of his pack would attack him. Perhaps if he was even a little rationale he would admit to Lithuania’s right to fight for his mate, but right now he is _hungry_ , caught by the scent of his prey and the taste of blood in his mouth. Pure, brutal beast. He snaps at Lithuania, offering him just one chance to back off or run.

For a moment, Lithuania freezes. He knows what he is challenging, what he is dealing with, and it would indeed be wise to back down now. However, his own anger is just as strong. That is his mate, his _husband_. That is _not_ prey. He can feel Poland’s energy in the air, smell his sweetness and fear. He will not let Russia touch him again. A low, rumbling growl escapes his throat, and he moves to stand in front of Poland, snarling with intense determination. He just hopes his mate can run before it gets any uglier.

The message is clear: _Mine_. For Russia, that claim is only as important as showing this little cur where he belongs. There will be no more warnings, no mercy. He lunges, a powerful swipe of his claws sending Lithuania to the side, but not down. He growls and goes after him again.

Lithuania knows he's in for it. But so is Russia. He can put up with a lot of his Alpha shit, but turning his mate into a snack is grounds for retaliation. He dodges the second move, then smacks Russia across the face, scratching him hard. He jolts back before tackling Russia to the ground and trying to roll him.

Poland watches the two wolves fight for the chance to make him a meal in a blur of teeth and fur, his mouth practically hanging open. He needs to get out of here while they're distracted. However, when he tries to stand he lets out a squeal of agony that seems to come straight from his leg. Okay, so, crawling. Crawling away as the big white wolf tackles the brown one and bites into his shoulder, and why the _hell_ does the yelp that follows echo in his soul? He forces himself to move. There's a growl in front of him, and when he looks up there are two more wolves staring back. They’re staying well away from the fight, but watching carefully. One has the biggest teats he's ever seen on a canine. Crap, does that mean they're trying to feed him to a whole _family_?

For a second, Lithuania is on his stomach and he takes a nasty bite to the shoulder. He doesn't care. This isn't about pain - this is about _Poland_. He struggles back and flips them again, slamming Russia onto his back and snapping at his throat. He'll die before he lets Russia win this.

This time it is Russia who yelps, Lithuania’s claws digging into his ribs and the fangs ripping his fur bloody. It’s not deep enough to kill, but it is enough to make him wary. This isn't how the fight is supposed to go. He's supposed to overpower the little upstart, to hurt him until he's too afraid to ever stand up to him again. This, however, is a real fight, and he's been _injured_. Snarling, Russia gathers in his legs and uses that power to throw Lithuania off of him. He's done playing. He'll kill the dog if he has too. With vicious intent, he lunges.

But Lithuania is fast. He rolls and lunges himself, tackling Russia back to the dirt with a loud, angry growl. _No_. Russia may be the Alpha, but he will _not_ have Lithuania’s mate. There is a struggle, another snap of jaws and heavy paws digging into his chest. Lithuania is thrown off, but he will not be deterred. His love is stronger than Russia. He throws himself into his next charge with enough force to knock the great white wolf off his feet, and uses the advantage to hold him to the dirt, a snarl of anger curling his lips up to bare his teeth.

Russia darts his head up, snapping his teeth into Lithuania's injured shoulder again while twisting beneath him. They struggle for a moment before he finally gets the other wolf off. They stand, both panting and bleeding, and Russia has to admit it's been a long time since he was in such a fight. It's almost exhilarating, except for the fact that he is not about to lose his territory.

They dance around each other, and Lithuania knows that Ivan will strike faster than he's playing. So he strikes first, head-butting him in the side and slamming him into the nearest tree. That's when Russia actually _yelps_. Lithuania jolts back, surprised to see the wolf stumble and half-limp away from the tree.

The impact sends bright, sharp pain all the way from Russia’s spine to the space behind his eyes, so that at first he cannot localize it. He keeps walking, trying to find what hurts while keeping an eye on Lithuania. It's in his chest; something moving that shouldn't be, tight against his lungs. A rib. He tries to snap at Toris, but the move sends pressure and pain all through his chest. He falters and falls, panting against the dirt.

No, no, he _cannot_ give up! Russia manages to rise again, but the pain is all over now, all the bites and scratches catching up at once. If he fights now, he could lose everything. However, if he gives in and lets Lithuania have his stupid mate, he can regroup and reclaim the pack when he is strong again. With a whimper, he lies down again and tucks his tail between his legs.

Lithuania comes closer and sniffs at him, wary. The white wolf growls a little, but Lithuania barks and shoves a paw against his ribs. Russia whines and rolls over, baring his neck and belly in surrender.

And there, before every wolf's shocked eyes, Lithuania leans in and nips at Russia's throat. More than a bite, it is a show of dominance, of victory. He has won this round. If Russia challenges him over his mate again, he will do so knowing that he was beaten once before.

Russia does not move until Lithuania pulls away to let him up. Belarus is beside him immediately. He growls at her, but cannot send her away. As if losing were not humiliating enough, he may need help. With a final, nasty look in Poland's direction and a bark that encourages the others to stay out of his way, Russia limps off into the woods.

Poland stares, not sure what the hell is going on. However, his leg is bleeding profusely, and it's definitely in need of treatment. He has to get out of here before the brown wolf decides to claim his victory prize.

Gripping a stick under his hand, he leans back against the tree. He hopes this stick is sturdier than the last one. Unlikely, but it's all he has. He brandishes it in front of him as the brown wolf comes closer. "Stay back. I'm warning you; if you come closer I'll turn you into a fur coat!"

The pack slowly backs up - all except Lithuania. He whines, his eyes going wide and puppyish on his husband. Then he sees the stick. His eyes widen even further and he gets up on his hind legs, paws in the air, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he pants for it.

Poland backs up further, wondering if there's any chance he can make it up the tree this time. This wolf is already drooling! He waves the stick at it. "GO! Get out of here! I'm totally not tasty!"

The wolf whines and follows the stick, its tail wagging. Poland blinks, and moves the stick slowly. The wolf's strange green eyes follow it. "You...want the stick?"

Lithuania whines, hopping up and down on his hind legs, his tail wagging, thumping hard against the dirt. Finally, he drops to all fours, mentally chanting _ThrowitthrowitthrowitIloveyouthrowit..._ Somewhere in his mind he knows that now is not the time to play fetch. But... There is a stick. He wants the stick.

Strange as it is, Poland will take any chance he can get. He takes a deep breath, then throws the stick as far as he can. As soon as the wolf bounds after it he drags himself up against the tree. His leg is agony, but he forces himself to work through it. All he has to do is make it into the tree, and then maybe he won't get eaten.

Lithuania bounds after the stick at lightning speed. His shoulder aches, his stomach is scratched and bruised, but it's a _stick_ and he _has_ to have it. He snatches it in mid-air, yelping a little when he hits the ground again. But he's no worse for wear. He bounds back, dropping the stick by the bottom of the tree and looking up at Poland, tail wagging with delight.

Poland manages to reach the lowest branch with his hands and pull the weight off his feet, but that bark frightens him and he falls back again. The sudden weight on the bad leg makes him cry out, and he falls in front of the wolf. Just _perfect_. But now that he's looking at it closely, there's something familiar about the animal. There’s something about the eyes that reminds him of... "Liet?"

Lithuania lets out a whine, leaning forward to nudge Poland’s hurt leg. But when Poland says his name, he raises his head and meets his eyes, trying to show him - _Yes, it's me, you see me..._ \- even if he can’t say the words.

Carefully, still half-afraid the wolf will turn on him, Poland reaches out toward the head. The wolf nuzzles against his fingers and rubs its ears against his palm. He takes the soft face between his hands and pulls it closer. Past the big teeth and the muzzle, the ears and the fur, there in the eyes...is his husband. Really, truly, not just a _reminder_ of Toris, but actually _him_. "Oh my God. _Oh my God_. I mean, what...Liet! Oh God, Liet, what happened to you? Why didn't you tell me?"

Oh, if only he could explain in this form. It seems so far away: the bite, the day he woke up in Russia's house with a stinging arm and a painful headache. Back then, Russia made sure of his conquests this way. His clan once numbered in the dozens, but it was slowly eaten away. At least that last question, he can answer with the tilt of his head.

"Oh don't you give me that look!" says Poland, crossing his arms. "I keep telling you that we're together now, so we're going to deal with things together. That includes you being all...furry."

Lithuania wants to say, _And you, being all... fairy?_ But he can only translate that into a three second look. Then he's back to nuzzling Poland's wound, whining at it, trying to convey that they need to seek special help. Norway. They need to heal this right, or Poland might be all furry himself by the next full moon.

Poland hisses, drawing the leg in. He's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his husband is a wolf. Part-time, at least. He looks up at the moon, and that makes more sense until he recognizes the full implications. "Oh holy shit, that means those others were...?"

Lithuania gives Poland another look that he should be quite familiar with. _Good job, babe_. Then he sits back on his hinds, waiting for him to try standing.

"Ahh! But if it bit me...I DON'T WANT TO BE A FURRY!" There's another wolf-look, and Poland backtracks. "Not that it looks bad on you. You look totally adorbs. Or, ah, fierce I mean. You scared the hell out of me. Wait, you just took down _Russia_ , didn't you? And he was going to eat me! That bastard...ohmygod, I can't even..." Poland stops himself, takes several very deep breaths in an attempt to regain some level of calm, and returns to the situation at hand. "Okay. So...um...clothes. They're over there somewhere. Could you grab them?" He points in the direction of the rest of the pack, who are watching quietly, apparently at a loss of what to do without Russia.

Lithuania's look reads: _Opposable thumbs?_ But he wanders over to the pile, picking them up with his teeth and bringing them to his lover article by article; though he keeps the underwear, rubbing his face in it.

At that, Poland shakes his head. "This explains...so very much. I did kind of wonder who chewed up my-you know what? Not going to think about that." He dresses gingerly, then finally tries to get to his feet. Although he takes his time, careful with how he holds his weight, even the slightest pressure sends throbbing agony through his calf. He grimaces, holding onto the tree to keep himself upright. "Okay so, the walking thing is probably not happening right now. Oh, Liet! You're hurt too! Your shoulder's bleeding."

Lithuania looks up. Yes, he's hurt, but Poland is far more important. He bows down on his legs, nodding his head and silently telling Poland to get on his back. He can carry a lot in this form. He can probably get his mate to Norway without any issues, unless his shoulder is more fucked up than he thinks.

"Toris, no, I can't! You're hurt," Poland protests. The wolf does not budge. Poland stretches out his hand, brushing it over the soft fur. "Are you sure?"

Lithuania gives him a long, obvious nod, hoping he'll understand. He can get his mate to safety. His shoulder will be fine - and if it isn't, Norway will take care of that too. Norway always does.


	20. Cats and Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France and Canada stalk Norway with devious intentions, but it quickly becomes obvious the incubi are not the ones the world needs to worry about. Lithuania arrives with Poland to find help - unfortunately, he cannot fight his canine instincts. Not when there's a cat to chase!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! We are both caught up for a few chapters now, so the updates should be more regular. Thank you for your patience, and for your comments!

October 31, 8:00 PM

Thank God in heaven for wings. It took a split-second for Canada and France to fly into Denmark and Norway's house before Norway slammed the door on Japan and Turkey. Now they're stalking him through his house, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

"He's alone." Canada hisses, licking his lips. "Denmark's in that tree. He must be _so_ lonely."

"But he just kicked Japan and Turkey out. Why would that be?" asks France. "There's something off about his energy. Can't you taste it?"

"He's using magic from the other side," Canada replies as they follow Norway up the steps, almost drooling at the sight of his ass. "That must be it. Really, France, why do you care? We're only going to fuck him."

"Quite true, dear Mattieu." France grins. He reaches out, just starting to send tendrils of sleep towards Norway as he heads into a bedroom. It would be the perfect set up; only, the bed is already occupied. The incubi do not even sense Greece until they see him, because his energy is too low to register. France frowns. "What’s this?"

Norway runs a hand over Greece's form, pausing over his mouth and nose. "It would be so easy to smother you now... _too_ easy, really. Besides, I would prefer to get to you before rigor mortis sets in. The longer dead, the stiffer the zombie." He hefts Greece over his shoulder and starts to make his way back downstairs and into the dark basement.

Canada's eyes widen at the display, even as they continue to follow Norway. "Zombie? _Zombie_? He can't mean an actual _zombie_..." He shudders. Both he and France have had bad experiences with such things.

"No, of course not! And if he did...someone must have cursed Greece! Surely he is saving him from such a horrible fate," says France. There is no way Norway would dabble in black magic. It’s too difficult to control, and it has terrible consequences. England has delved into that art every once in a while, and that's how he came to owe France so very much. Black magic leads to things like accidentally turning your friends (enemies, at the time) into incubi. Or worse: summoning Russia.

They follow Norway all the way down to the basement, where, to their utter shock, they find Finland in a cage. Canada gapes at the apparent dungeon. "What's going on down here?"

Finland found a toothbrush and a sink tucked away in the corner of the cell once he actually looked around. He's been using the toothbrush to do the one thing he can think of in this situation: clean. The cell is filthy; at least with a toothbrush, the rags of his shirt, and some soapy water, he can scrub the floor. He looks up as Norway arrives, and gasps when he sees Greece. "What did you _do_ to him?!"

Norway smirks and dumps Greece on the floor in front of the cell. "Me? I haven't touched him. Yet." He heads for the shelves (all made of iron to prevent imp interference) and starts pulling down what he'll need for a zombie ritual. The stores do not contain everything he needs for the spell, but he's capable of a little improvisation and substitution. At least it will make for an interesting zombie.

"What are you _doing_?" Finland snaps, dropping his toothbrush in alarm at the state of Greece's body. So pale, so limp. He looks nearly dead. "You have to heal him! He's dying! Let me out this instant!"

Norway just laughs, setting a bowl and a few candles by Greece's head. He starts mixing the ingredients as he replies. "Don't worry, he'll come back; I can make him better than he was. Stronger, impervious to pain. What good is a brain, really?"

"Oh My God!" Finland cries, utterly stricken by the cruelty of Norway's words, the laughter in his eyes. "How can you be so cruel? You can't turn a nation into a zombie, that's millions of people!"

"Shut up." Norway raises a hand, and suddenly Finland can't open his mouth. "I haven't had this much fun in a hundred years."

Canada looks to France, his eyes wide with two parts confusion, one part fear. "Well... ah... You were right, I guess. Something is definitely off."

"We can't jump to conclusions!" France exclaims. Unfortunately, in this state lust tends to outweigh logic. Even though he can see and feel that something is very, _very_ wrong here, the demon side of him tries to reason him into seduction.

"He's using essence of deadly nightshade with hypnosis powder," says Canada, crossing his arms over his chest. It's clear that Norway is making a zombie out of Greece. Which... isn't technically something that should get in the way of fucking him, but even demons have principles.

Norway picks up a knife and lifts Greece's hand over the bowl. Before he can make the cut, there's a great commotion above them, outside the basement window. It sounds almost like barking. Norway frowns and sniffs the air. Ah. A werewolf. The wicked smile returns to his lips. The zombie can wait; he has better things to play with now.

XXX

Out in the courtyard, Lithuania and Poland have arrived. Unfortunately, Lithuania cannot control himself around a cat, and within ten seconds of their arrival he is chasing Turkey through the yard, having dumped Poland by the door in his quest to catch the kitty.

"Liet, stop! Um, bad dog! Bad wolf! Er...HEEL!" Poland tries desperately to end the chase, pulling himself up by the door handle until his leg collapses. He curses, and takes up shouting across the yard instead. “Sorry Turkey! Don’t hurt him, it’s actually Lithuania! He’s a werewolf, but he’s not usually…wait, how are you a _CAT_?!”

Turkey hisses and darts away, barely aware of Poland yelling after them. Werewolves are very fast, and it's all he can do to stay out of range of the creature’s teeth. He sees a tree in the distance and does a pinpoint turn, heading straight for it. Wolves may be fast, but they aren't very good at climbing.

"Oh- Oh _no_!" Japan yells, chasing after the pair. "Wait! Stop, he's not a kitty! He is Turkey! You don't want to pick a war with Turkey right now!”

Lithuania is thinking nothing but _Catcatcatcat!_ , chasing the neko nation at full-speed, tongue hanging from his mouth as he practically flies at the tree. But soon Turkey is up in the branches, and he's left at the bottom, jumping and barking. He wants to _play_ with the kitty!

The little vampire kitten hisses at the wolf, darting at its head. It smells like blood - not tasty blood, but blood all the same. "BlehMEW!"

Lithuania lunges at the vamp-kitty, snapping at it until it flies out of range. The he’s back to scratching at the tree and snapping at Turkey’s tail. He wants the Turkitty now, and he won't stop jumping at that tree until Turkey comes down!

"Ah- Lithuania-san!" Japan tries to get close to the wolf again, but there's no way he's letting any of his fingers go near Lithuania's mouth. That dog is snapping like a fiend. "Stop! Turkey is not a toy!"

Turkey hisses and darts a sharp-nailed claw down to smack Lithuania's nose. Then he climbs higher into the tree, until he runs into Denmark. They stare at one another for a minute. "Um..."

Denmark blinks. "Awe, dammit! You made me lose count!" he sighs, swinging his knees. Then he sees the ears. "Oh, dude, wicked costume! They feel so real!" he says, laughing gleefully as he reaches out to pet Turkey’s ears.

"No, don't touch my-ooh...mrow...purrr!" Turkey's protests disappear entirely when the petting turns to scratching, right at his favorite spot. He rubs his head against Denmark's hand and ends up half-sitting in his lap.

Denmark laughs at the adorable play-kitty act Turkey is putting on. "Oh, dude, you should so wear those in bed with Japan. He'd go nuts." He swings his legs again. "So, what'cha doin' up here?"

A growl below answers that question. Lithuania sits on his hind legs, paws scratching at the base of the trunk. There is a _cat_ up there. He'll cut this tree down with his bare claws if he has to.

"Lithuania! Stop that! Please!" Japan looks around, then grabs a stick from the yard. "Ah- Here boy! Fetch the stick! Fetch it!"

But a _cat_ is so much more important than a _stick_ , so Lithuania sticks with _cat_ and just starts whining louder.

Back at the house, Norway opens the door and ends up smacking Poland in the back. "Ouch!" Poland glares up at him. "Uncool, Lukas. We've been out here for ages. Anyway, um, this may be awkward and all, but my husband is a werewolf and he's chasing Turkey...who kind of looks like a cat. Ah fuck, this is wicked crazy. Maybe I hit my head."

Norway stares at the scene for a moment, then laughs out loud. This just gets better! A wolf and a neko in the same place? He wonders how long it will take for them to tear one another apart. And then there’s Poland bleeding on the doorstep. What's more fun than one zombie? _Two_. "What happened to you?"

"OhmyGod, you are not going to believe this! I was in the woods, because I’m kind of a wila and I get these moments where I can see the future, but I mean-"

Norway holds up a hand, and Poland’s mouth seals itself. "Short version, please."

Poland gasps as his mouth unseals. He frowns, warily watching Norway's hands. "Totally rude. Anyway, I was attacked by Russia while I was dancing. He bit me, but Liet saved me before he could turn me into dinner. It was way awesome and heroic and stuff! But, y'know, still bitten by a werewolf, and that's never supposed to end well. Liet said you could help."

"Help? Everyone seems to think that," says Norway. He decides that two zombies is two of the same, and that's boring. It would be more fun to watch Poland turn into a wolf, especially when he has Finland already locked in a cage. He'll make such an excellent snack. Norway leans down and helps Poland to his feet, dragging one arm over his shoulders. "Come inside and I’ll do what I can."

"Oh, thanks!" Poland grins. As soon as they're both inside, the door locks again.

France and Canada look at one another as they watch Norway escort Poland to one of the couches in the living room. "He...might mean well?"

"I don't think so," Canada says gravely.

Norway stoops to examine the bite wound, and Poland sucks in a breath as his fingers prod at the leg with what is, in Poland’s opinion, a great deal more force than necessary. But, Norway's the one who is supposed to know what he's doing. "So? Can you fix it?"

The bite's a nasty one, cutting deep into the muscle. It was made by a very, very big wolf; Poland's lucky the leg is still _attached_. Norway smirks. He'd like very much to meet this big bad version of Russia. He's always had a way with werewolves; it would be easy enough to put this pack under his control. Of course, it’s much easier to start when they first transform. He pulls Poland to his feet again and drags him toward the basement. "I could. But I have a better idea."

"You _WHAT_?" Poland shrieks. He's got no choice but to stumble after Norway; it's follow him, or fall.

When the stairs creak, Finland rushes to the bars of his cage. "Feliks, don't let him! He's crazy! He locked me in here!"

"What the _hell_ , Lukas? What's wrong with you?” Poland yells, pulling out of his grasp only to trip over Greece's body and end up on the floor. He crawls over Greece, feeling for his pulse. It's just barely there, and all too slow. "Oh my God..."

Norway takes down the keys to the cage, then gathers a handful of dirt from the floor and throws it into Finland's face. The tonttu yelps like he’s been injured and runs to the little sink to wash the dirt away.

"Oh..." Canada says, watching with wide eyes as Finland starts scrubbing his face with soap and water. "How does he even have sex?"

France taps Canada's nose. "In the shower, of course!"

Norway opens the cage, grabs Poland by the arm, and throws him in. While Poland shrieks from the weight on his leg and Finland keeps scrubbing, Norway slams the cage shut again and steps back. "This will be fun! First we see how long it takes for you to turn, and then how long it takes for you to rip the little tonttu apart."

Sprawled on the floor, Poland glares through the bars. "You're insane. You think you're scaring me or something? No way, I've totally been through worse before. I always get out again. You'll see."

Norway laughs. "I count on it."


	21. Bad Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> China is not happy when Russia appears on his doorstep smelling of another wolf's blood.

October 31, 8:15

The only reason China is at home and not prowling about on such a fine night is the full moon, and the fact that Norway never came to call. He wasn't about to deny his lover a night to hunt freely, but he fully expects him to come back before dawn so they can share a meal together in their inhuman forms.

He smells Russia when he is still miles off; there's blood on him. He absolutely _reeks_ of it. China digs his nails into his chair and hisses. That pig! How dare he come here smelling like his favorite puppy and that fairy! Did he _kill_ them, to smell like that? Either way, he is in a great deal of trouble.

Outside, Russia is bloody, beaten and shamed. He sent Belarus away as soon as he was across the border, and sure that he could walk on his own. He is wounded, but that doesn’t bother him as much as the loss of his pack. Wounds can heal, and Yao does not mind the taste of his blood. He knows the vampire can smell him - so why isn't he coming to the door?

Russia barks, ending in a soft whine for his poor ribs. There is no answer. He sniffs at the air, but there's nothing wrong with it. It's only China and Hong Kong. He whines again, scratching at the front porch.

Hong Kong sets China’s tea on the coffee table, blinking at the shadow on their lawn. "There's..." He squints, heading for the window. "Holy shit. There's a big fucking wolf in our yard."

"I know," China snaps, picking up his tea and taking a little sip. _Lying little werepig_. His nails dig into the seat cushion, nearly puncturing it. "Don't bother with it."

"Um..." Hong Kong blinks again, moving closer to the window. "I don't think it's going away."

"Throw rocks at it," China commands, sipping tea. _Werepig, how dare you show up here smelling of your little puppy's blood!_ He snarls to himself, drawing his feet up and curling them beneath him.

"Um..." Even under China's vampiric thrall, Hong Kong has managed to retain his sarcasm and a modicum of free will. He moves to the door warily. "We don't have any rocks."

"Use the spare tea cups. Go ahead." China waves a hand.

"Okay..." Hong Kong grabs a couple of chipped cups from the cupboard, cracks the door, and tosses one at the wolf.

Russia avoids the sudden projectiles with some difficulty. Annoyed, he growls and snaps at the glass. He does not _like_ being hit with things, and he is tired and hurt. He wants to go inside and curl up with China, and he would very much like to eat whatever tasty meat is around. He is no pet, though, and he is not going to play fetch. This time he comes closer with his hackles raised, growling at the door.

"Um..." Hong Kong turns, trying to reason with China. "He's growling."

"Uh-huh," China hums, finally letting go of the chair to stand up. If Ivan is going to play this game, he will play with the one he will hesitate to maim. "Go to your room."

"Gladly." Hong Kong runs up the stairs, leaving China to fend off the beast alone.

Sighing a little, China goes to the door and opens it, facing Russia with the sternest look in his arsenal. "You smell like puppy and fairy. _What_ have I told you?"

Russia flattens his ears, however he cannot hold out long against that gaze. He lies down and whimpers. _But fairies are tasty!_

"I do not care that fairies are tasty," China replies. He learned to read Russia's dog-speak long ago. "They are not for eating, or fucking. Steak is for eating. I am for fucking."

Russia cocks his head to the side. _Steak is boring. It does not run or scream or play._ Nor do they fuck when the moon is full; that’s a line even they are not willing to cross. He nudges China's foot. He is not domesticated like his puppies, but for China he is gentle.

China sighs and his gaze softens. "Alright," he murmurs, heading into the house. The steak has already been thawed and is simply waiting on the floor to be consumed. "I'll heal you, and we can snuggle. _After_ you eat."

Russia limps after him, his tail wagging a little. The steak is not fun, but he is hungry. He gnaws on it, trying not to growl when China gets close; he knows better than to take something that Russia is eating. That's just a good way to lose a hand.

China kneels by his lover’s side, licking his fingers and rubbing spit over the wounds, healing them slowly. "I told you to stay away from those two. Only trouble."

The wolf’s jaws clamp hard around the steak and Russia growls. _They are MINE._ Then he whines, lapping at the mix of blood on his paws. _Though perhaps I should not have tried to eat the wila. He just smells so good!_

"Oh, there-there." China scratches Russia's ears before moving back toward the couch and licking his fingers clean. "I’ll let you hunt in my forest. Just do not eat the pandas; they are rare, and very nice to have around."

Russia finishes off the steak in a few large bites, then makes his way over to the couch. He is still limping some; China can heal the cuts and bites, but he cannot fix broken ribs. On the bright side, it may provoke a rare bit of pity from the vampire. He whines and sits at China’s feet, his head resting in his lap.

"Awe," China pouts, petting Russia’s head and scratching his ears. "You are still hurt, aru? My poor Ivan... Want to curl up in my bed? We can snuggle until the dawn comes."

Russia's tale thumps against the floor. He had planned to spend the night hunting, but he will face his pack again when he has healed. He won't be underestimating them again. In the meantime, there are more pleasant things to do.


	22. Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netherlands encounters the rogue werewolves and races to Hungary for help. While they devise a plan, the wolves enjoy their new-found freedom.

October 31, 8:15 PM

The problem with being a dealer of magical things is that one never knows what will be in demand. It's not like fish - fish are always in demand, pickled or not. Netherlands would've kept eye of naga in stock if he'd known that Sweden was going to be a bad boy and not take his medication. As it stands, he only has three eyes fresh enough to be used for the potion.

He tries to call Norway to see if he has any, but there’s no answer. That's when he starts to worry. Tonight's no time for Norge to be out of touch. His three eyes in hand, metaphorically speaking, he heads for Hungary's and hopes those will be enough.

Netherlands turns the corner to head down the forest road. Hungary's place isn't far, but he likes the short-cut. Time is money, after all. However, as he's driving a huge mass suddenly darts in front of his car. He hits the brakes and the thing turns into his headlights. A wolf. A huge grey wolf with blue eyes. Holy Shit. Another, smaller wolf darts past, and then one with _huge_... Oh shit. Oh _shit_.

Backing up, Netherlands makes a u-turn and takes for the longer route, speeding to make up time. He has to get to Hungary now, because _clearly_ Norway isn't doing his job.

When he reaches Hungary's place there's already another car outside. He doesn't have time to think about the possibility that she might be with someone right now, so he simply pounds on the door hard enough to make the wood rattle beneath his fingers. When she answers, he barrels past her. "We've got a problem."

Hungary blinks. "A...problem?" Her hands go to her hips and she glares at him. "If you sold me bad items again, I'm going to hit you so hard your economy will collapse."

"Oh, you're going to _wish_ I sold you bad items," he promises, heading into the kitchen before she can even invite him in. He's got no time for the niceties. "The wolves are loose. Most of them. At least three."

" _What_?" Hungary hisses. That means Russia - _Russia_ \- could be freely roaming the world as a raging, bloodthirsty werewolf. "Are you sure?"

"Drove right past them," Netherlands replies, grabbing her supply of wolfsbane off the shelf and sprinkling a little on her window ledge. "Fuck, nearly hit one. Then high-tailed it over here."

"They're _here_?" she gasps. "How is that possible?"

"Because Norway _isn't doing his fucking job_ ," Netherlands snaps, sticking a sprig in his scarf and one in Hungary's hair. "I called him like eight times on the way here, trying to get more naga eyes for you. But he's not answering his phone. Something's up. Unless - Is that who's here? Norge?"

"Oh, no! He's not here, that's, ah..." She hesitates, then decides that such a situation requires full disclosure. Netherlands knows about the troll already, anyway. "Sweden!" she calls into the living room.

"Mm?" he leans into the kitchen, but when he sees Netherlands he drops his hand behind his back. "Ah. Heard someone. S'problem?"

Netherlands raises his eyebrows. Well. That pinkie is definitely stone. "Yeah. A few." He takes out his phone and starts scrolling through the numbers. "Something's up with Norge, and the wolves are on the loose. I think we need to enlist some help."

"Wolves?" Sweden looks to Hungary.

"Ah..." she sighs. “Some of the other nations are like you: more than human, more than nation. There are werewolves among them, a whole pack. Usually Norway rounds them up before a full moon, but something must have gone wrong."

"There are wolves out there?" As if in answer, a chorus of howls echoes through the window. Sweden's eyes widen, but the fear is not on his own behalf. "Tino! Tino is out there. Think he found out about my...well he found out, and he got upset. I can't reach 'im."

" _Shit_." Netherlands hisses, looking toward the window. "Fuck. Okay. I'm calling the hunters. They'll get the wolves caged within the hour. Then we have to find Finland - because God fucking knows what a pissed off tonttu can do."

Sweden stares. "...a what?"

"Oh sweetie, how did you miss that?" says Hungary. "Never mind. Your marriage, not mine. You and your partner can have that talk."

She turns to Netherlands. "Tell them to be careful. I'm going to cook up what I can, and then we'll head over to Norway's. I'd like to hope that Denmark just messed with the locks again, but I have a feeling it's something worse."

XXX

After the incident between Russia and Lithuania, the other wolves scattered. They had considered helping Lithuania, but he didn't seem to be in a sharing mood, and then Russia might never forgive them. Instead Estonia, Latvia, and Ukraine ran after the smell of a deer, which seemed a lot safer than a fairy with an angry mate. Only Belarus was crazy enough to go after Russia, and even she was frightened away at the edge of China's land. She caught up while they were tearing apart the deer, so now the four of them are roaming together. It’s strange; they don’t know who to follow, so they end up wandering, following the smells they like best.

Latvia, especially, is always hungry. As a growing werewolf, he's got a bottomless pit of a stomach. He smells rabbit, too, or something resembling rabbit, so he looks over his shoulder at Estonia and brushes his tail over his nose, teasing. Then he starts leading, searching for the scent of bunny.

Estonia bristles, but all in play. His tail is up and he bounds after Latvia. This is...fun. Exhilarating. They haven't been out like this in _years_ , and they've never been out without Russia. There are all sorts of good smells around them that he could go after if he wanted to. He could tackle his pack-mates to the ground and play wrestle. He could roll around in the dirt, then shake out his fur, or run as fast as he wants. Tongue lolling out, he jumps in front of Raivis and starts racing him.

Latvia barks, rabbit forgotten as Estonia provides a more attractive distraction. He chases him, all happy puppy face, then bounds over him, tackling Estonia to the dirt and rolling with him. Belarus snarls at the pair until an overly enthusiastic Ukraine barrels into her and they, too, end up in the dirt. Belarus snaps at her and scrambles to her feet again, not appreciating the game when they could be hunting. Big Brother would never allow this.

It _is_ fun, this instinct to play that they have denied for so long. Estonia rolls them again, nipping at Latvia and wagging his tail. Then he smells something delicious. His head whips up while he still has Latvia pinned, and all four of them sniff at the air. It's not fairy, more like...sheep. A sheep! And where there is one there are always more.

Latvia, too, looks up, his eyes wide and hungry. Oh, glorious sheep! There’s nothing like sheep to fill you. Crouching low, Latvia prowls toward the scent with Estonia right in front of him and the girls not far behind. Sheep - one for each of them, he bets; they travel in herds. More than one for each of them.

There is just one sheep to be seen, and it is standing still in the middle of the woods. It must have wandered - which means there is a herd nearby! And this sheep is a _fat_ sheep. Lost sheep are the easiest to kill, and then they can go find the herd. Maybe there will be a nice side of shepherd to go with it.

Latvia is impatient - as is Belarus, not far behind. Licking his lips, Latvia prowls past Estonia, and on a breath he attacks. Belarus charges behind him, and the other two follow. But before they can get anywhere near the nummy morsel, a huge weighted net drops down on them, effectively pinning them all to the ground.

_"G'day."_


	23. Black Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wolfpack is reunited at the worst possible time, and Australia and New Zealand face a dangerous encounter with the Loki in Norway. Meanwhile, England is getting desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews! Some of you are very perceptive :D 
> 
> A note on pronouns: In this story New Zealand is gender neutral. We are using the pronouns ze/zir/zir (corresponding to they/them/their).

October 31, 9:00 PM

When the werewolves get out of their pens and go on a rampage, there are very few people who can catch them. Two of those people are Australia and his sibling New Zealand. Known throughout the world as some of the greatest supernatural hunters, the two had a fairly easy time of catching the wolves. The right bait can do wonders. Now the hairy beasts are in the back of Aussie's van, sleeping off tranquilizers. "Oi, you got a granola bar?" Aussie asks, looking to NZ.

New Zealand digs around in zir bag, then produces a snack and holds it out. "Hokey Pokey flavored. Did Netherlands say where to take them?"

"Norway’s. Apparently something's up over there; s'not answering his mobile." Leaning over, Aussie takes the granola bar between his teeth and straightens up again, his eyes still totally focused on the road.

New Zealand fondly pets the sheep sitting between them. "There's a brave gal. I promised you wouldn't get eaten, didn't I?"

"Baaa," says the sheep, and nuzzles zir hand.

There's a growl from the back, and New Zealand shouts to the wolves. "Pipe down! We don't want to use the silver bullets." In the case of nations, they're technically not allowed to unless the circumstances are extreme. It still makes a decent threat.

Australia chews on the bar all the way to Norway's, only to have it fall from his mouth as he tries to park. "Oh, Come on!" He whines, yanking the van into park and reaching to scoop up the bar, only to find it in the sheep's mouth. "Essie!"

Outside, Lithuania can smell his pack - or most of them. They're in that van, and that is even more important than Turkitty. He drops to his feet with a growl and prowls over to the van, about to demand the release of his pack.

It's a good thing New Zealand happens to look out the window before they open the door. He spots the wolf headed for them, still covered in blood. That might be grounds to use the gun. Ze pulls a rifle out from beside the door and nudges Australia. "I think we found the rest of the pack."

"Wha-?" Australia’s eyes widen at the sight of the wolf. He grabs his spare tranq gun and cocks it, then opens his door and aims the gun out at the wolf. "Right then! Back away slowly."

Lithuania is, of course, not the average wolf. He's much more domesticated, and he knows exactly what that gun means. With a whimper, he runs behind the tree.

New Zealand steps out with zir gun still aimed, carefully looking around. Netherlands said there were six wolves; they've only got five. Then there's the pair of nations ze can't quite see in the high branches of a nearby tree, and Japan at the bottom - with the wolf! "Japan! Stay still, we've got him."

"Stop!" Japan shouts, raising his hands in defense. "You can't tranquilize poor Toris! Feliks is inside with that _monster_! You need to get him out."

"Uh..." Australia blinks, utterly confused. He has no idea what's going on, but they have bigger problems. "Right. Okay then." He turns to NZ. "Let's get these puppies inside. Clearly, Norway has been slacking."

New Zealand frowns. "It sounds like there's something more going on here. Japan, what do you mean? Should we bring the salt? Or a few stakes?"

"It's Norway!" Japan exclaims, waving toward the door. "Turkey and I brought Greece here in very bad shape, and Norway said he would wait for him to die, then turn him into a zombie! We were locked outside, and now Greece and Poland are trapped!" He sobs, turning away in shame.

"What the flamin' hell?" Australia exclaims, looking toward the door. "Doesn't sound like Norge at all."

NZ glances toward the house, trying to keep an eye on the wolf at the same time. "No, it doesn't. But if he won't open the door, how do we get inside?" Carefully, gun still raised, ze heads for the house.

"C'mon, let's just let ourselves in." Aussie says easily. He gives the lock a swift, hard kick and the door swings open. "See? Totally fine."

With a shake of zir head and a bit more caution, New Zealand follows Australia inside. "Kia ora! Norway?"

The sound of voices once again interrupts Norway’s zombie ritual. He curses and glowers at the ceiling; the footsteps are even louder than the broken door from the basement. He turns his glare on Poland and Finland. "If the two of you make any noise, _any_ at all, I'll kill them. They won't be able to stop my magic; I'll just rip them apart from the inside out. Then I'll leave you, little tonttu, to clean up the mess."

Finland shudders. "Bastard..." He's been trying to heal Poland, or at least patch his wound. Unfortunately, it's not a simple cut, and Poland is not a cooperative patient.

Poland rolls his eyes. "Fine. Don't go on a murderous rampage or anything. But so help me, when I get out of here I am _so_ making Warsaw your- SHIT!" Finland tries to clean his leg again, and he automatically kicks.

Norway growls. "Not. One. Sound."

Upstairs, Australia is sniffing at a bottle of vampire's blood Norway left out on the kitchen counter. Nothing on the counter smells edible right now, but maybe they can find something for the wolves elsewhere. "Gotta be some meat in here. Oi, Z, check the freezer. Should be a steak here somewhere, right?"

A shiver runs down New Zealand's spine before ze can respond. NZ doesn't even need to turn around. "Good evening, Norway."

"Evening." Norway leans in the doorway, watching them, wondering what fun might be had with this latest pair of nations. "I wouldn't touch that. It'll eat through your skin."

Australia lets out a slight squeak, dropping the vial and immediately pretending no one heard that. "Right. Yeah. Um... Been wonderin' where ye've been all night, Norge. We got the wolves. Why didn't you handle 'em?"

"You have them?" Norway's eyes light up. "I mean...thank you. I was distracted, dealing with other things. If you bring them here, I can take care of them."

"Sure thing!" Australia says. "Just in the back of the van. Gotta figure out a way to get 'em all out nicely. Not happy at the moment, as you can imagine."

"No, something's not right." New Zealand is still holding the gun, and zir grip tightens on it as ze takes a step closer. The tone of Norway’s voice is too eager; Norway never sounds eager. In fact, he never sounds like much of anything. NZ squints, and - there. His aura isn’t the right color; it's sparking, reacting to being in the wrong body, and the spirit is a strong one. There is only one set of nations who can reverse a possession. "Aussie, call the Italies."

"Huh?" Australia turns to look at New Zealand, confused. "Mate, the Italies are all Tomatofae'in about. If either of them even answer their phone, they'll just turn it into a tomato." Still, he reaches into his pocket to follow his sibling's instructions.

"You think you've figured it out, have you?” Norway’s eyes narrow. These two are experienced hunters, and New Zealand is far too perceptive. For the first time, he feels seriously threatened – and that only makes him more dangerous. “You have no idea who you are dealing with!"

He raises his arms and aims a curse at New Zealand. The curse is a deadly one, meant to twist his organs and bones out of shape. But at the very last second, he stumbles over his own tongue and the words come out wrong. A searing pain races through his skull and he falls against the wall, clutching his head. Lukas is awake, and he’s fighting back.

Billows of smoke cloud the kitchen. Australia gasps, running through it to get to his sibling. When he reaches through the haze, he finds something soft. The haze clears, and he blinks. "Z?" He gasps, staring at his very wooly sibling.

"Baa! Baaa?" says New Zealand, rather distressed by the transformation. The sheep turns in a circle, trying to see just what has happened. Norway is panting, muttering to himself; _fighting_ , NZ realizes. The real Norway is fighting back. Ze turns desperately to Australia, trying to convey that they need to go after Norway now, while the thing possessing him is still confused.

Distraught, Australia kneels by his sibling and takes the sheep into his arms, sobbing. "Oh, Z! I've failed you. Look at you, my poor little sibling! I'm so sorry. I'll get you changed back, you know I will! And even if you don't want to change back, I'll still love you! I'll always respect your gender and animagi choices."

New Zealand wants to chomp on Aussie's fingers in frustration, but then decides his shirt looks very tasty and takes a nibble of that instead.

Norway shuts his eyes and _forces_ Lukas back. That mind is still weakened from his invasion, but it’s quite clear that he's going to have to work harder to repress it. He hits Lukas with the equivalent of a mental brick to the head, and opens his eyes again. Ah, he hates the headache that comes with that. However, there are more important things to take care of. Like wolves in the back of a van.

Lithuania spots Norway leaving the house and barks, wagging his tail. He probably has Feliks inside, and that's okay. Feliks needs his leg patched and injected with the lycanthropy antidote. Still, he trots up to Norway, hoping for a status update. He wants to be sure his lover is alright.

Norway runs an idle hand over Lithuania's head, scratching his ears. He's been such a good boy, keeping Japan and Turkey distracted. "What do you say to a little family reunion?" he asks, walking the wolf over to the van sitting in the driveway.

Inside, Latvia whimpers. He's dizzy from the tranquilizer darts and Belarus is sort of crushing his spine. But Estonia is next to him, being smothered by Ukraine, so that's okay. They’re all together. He barks, smelling Norway and Lithuania, and whimpering for freedom.

Norway throws open the back of the van. The lock on their cage isn't complicated, but the fact that they're so sleepy is boring. Well, perhaps once they walk around a bit they’ll wake up. His first puppy does not hesitate once the cage is open. Lithuania jumps up into the van, barking loudly and nipping at Latvia's ear. Latvia yelps and stumbles out of the van, kind of shaking it off once he hits the ground.

They all need to wake up - that much is clear. Lithuania barks louder, calling to his pack and jumping from the van again. The basic translation is _CAT!,_ and he's hoping that once they see Turkey in the tree they'll understand how crucial this is.

Belarus leaps out with all the grace she can muster, growling dangerously and Lithuania. She does not like him now that he has hurt her precious brother. She would fight him, but the tranquilizer has her wandering lopsided. Estonia squirms out from under Ukraine to greet Lithuania with far more enthusiasm. They sniff one another in places that would be awkward if they were in different forms, before Estonia flops down for a little nap.

No one is understanding the urgency. Lithuania wags his tail, crouching on his front paws playfully before he barks: _CATCATCAT!_ Then, he rushes back to the tree.

Latvia hears the call and stumbles after, trying to wake up a little. He needs to stay alert. And... well, there's a _cat_. He wanders after Lithuania, looking up into the tree, and when he sees Turkey with ears and a tail, he perks right up. _CAT!_ he barks, jumping up at the tree.

The others are still recovering, and Norway rolls his eyes as he watches his pack of man-eating werewolves act like drunks. This is not the intimidating group of beasts he was hoping for. Maybe, with the right spark...he raises his hand and sends miniature lightning bolts at the three to shock them awake. They yelp and leap up. Laughing, Norway points at the tree. "Go on! Get the CAT. Or there's a sheep inside, you're welcome to that one as well. Or Japan. Whatever you're hungry for, really."

Estonia snaps at the air, unsure where that spark came from. He has decided he does not like sparky things or sleepy things. But he _is_ awake now, and when he follows his excited pack to the tree- OMGCAT. It's a big Turkitty! He whines up at him and scratches at the trunk.

Latvia starts barking like the little runt he is, right alongside the jumping Lithuania. Denmark jolts at the sound and winds up slipping from his branch. He’s shocked back into the tree by the iron chain surrounding it. "What the-? Where...?" He looks to Turkey, utterly confused. "Did you say something?"

_CATCATCAT!_ Latvia barks, leveraging his claws into the trunk and starting to climb the tree - or at least trying to.

"SHIT!" Turkey shouts, climbing on top of Denmark in an effort to put more distance between himself and the wolves. "Can that one climb? Oh man, if it climbs we're screwed."

"DUDE!" Denmark exclaims, trying to disentangle himself from Turkey's scrambling limbs. "What's wrong with you?!" Then he looks down. The wolves are gathering around the trunk, wide awake and wanting to... play? Well, probably not. "Oh. Okay. I gotcha."

Fortunately for them, the trunk has no traction and Latvia’s claws are not meant for climbing. He winds up falling before he can even get high enough to snap at Turkitty's tail.

Meanwhile, New Zealand the sheep is trying to get Australia to understand that they need to do something. They need back-up. It is time to call in the wizard, no matter how drained he may be. "BAA!"

"I jus' want you to be happy, man or woman or sheep or whatever you want to be, and-" Australia pauses, tears still streaking down his face. "Wait, you want me to call big brother?" The sheep nods, so he gropes at his shirt, searching for the little pocket that had his cellphone. However, his shirt appears to be half-gone. "What in blue blazes happened to my shirt?!"

New Zealand makes a face of sheep-shame, and noses Aussie in apology. "Ba-baa."

"Bloody fuck, Z!" Australia waves his arms, watching sadly as his shirt hangs listlessly from one shoulder. "You could've spit out my flamin' mobile!"

The Australian national anthem starts in cell phone notes, and they both look at New Zealand's stomach. If sheep could blush, NZ would be doing so. Whenever ze gets changed back, ze will likely be regretting that particular diet choice.

XXX

Lacking a phone - at least until it makes its way through New Zealand's digestive system, and Aussie isn’t really sure he'll _want_ it after that - means they have to physically go to England's house. Both hunters are hesitant to leave behind a possessed Norway and a host of other supernaturally incapacitated nations, but there is no way two hunters can handle them on their own. Especially not when one of them is a sheep.

England's house is currently a rather gloomy place. Desperate to keep himself awake, England is practically buried in teacups and manuscripts. He is about a second away from reaching for the stash of cocaine he's been hiding in his bookshelf since the 80's when his doorbell rings.

"Oh, thank _God_!" he cries. Guests. Yes, just the thing to keep him awake. He runs for the door, flinging it open only to come face to face with his younger brother – and a sheep.

"Artie!" Australia cries out, raising NZ up for England to see. "M'sib's a sheep!"

"Baa!" says New Zealand, which is sheep for, _"Don't worry about me, the world is in danger! Norway is possessed!"_ Ze is fairly certain it doesn't come across, especially considering the bags under England's eyes.

England stares at the sheep, then at Australia, deep concern in his eyes. "Are you... on the special brownies again? I've told you to go easy on the stuff, honestly..."

"No, _look_!" Aussie shouts, holding the sheep up and _shaking_ zir in England's face, which is probably not the most comfortable position for NZ to be in. "It's Z! Ze’s a sheep! I mean Z! I mean- Fuck it, CHANGE THEM BACK."

Clearly, England is unconvinced. NZ wracks zir brain for something useful. It would be helpful if there were any of England's fairy friends around, or better yet, a hobbit. However, it appears they've all recognized the danger and gone into hiding. So New Zealand does the only thing a sheep can manage, and bonks heads with England.

"Owe!" England stumbles back, glaring at the sheep. "Why you..." And that's when he sees the thing's eyes, glaring right back at him with that all-knowing, all-mocking look New Zealand's so fond of. "Oh Dear Lord. That _is_ Z."

"Right, right, good, you've got it!" Australia says fast, pushing into the house with New Zealand in his arms. "Now hurry up! Change zir back!

"Ba-bah!" says New Zealand, squirming in Aussie's grip to get loose. Once ze does, ze tramps around England's feet, trying to get him to understand the importance of the situation. Then ze stops and stares up. England's eyebrows look tasty. There's so much of them, and they look like old grass. Just a nibble... _no_. Bad sheep, baaad!

“We'll fix this," England swears, just happy for something to keep him awake. "Let me get my books. And my crystals. Oh! And the symbol chalk. Mustn't forget that. And the pickled frogs’ eyes. And some tea. You'll put the kettle on, won't you?"

 


	24. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungary and Sweden attempt to free their friends and face down Norway, but the possessed nation is far more dangerous than they expect. With Greece near death, Poland injured, and Finland lost in doubt, they're going to need all the help they can get to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing! (P.S. lovelies, you're totally missing out if you don't read our replies to the ones who try to flame us. I'm so proud of the amount of snark we fit into such a small space.)

October 31, 9:15 PM

The drive to Norway's is tense and silent, mostly because Sweden is tense and silent and Hungary is a little scared of him. She has some freeze powder in her pocket, just in case, but she doesn't think he'll go all rabid troll. He's got more control than that – for now. Still, when they pull into Norway's driveway and hear the howling of wolves _far_ too close by, she's certainly glad she brought the powder.

Sweden opens the door carefully and sniffs the air. He doesn't have a wolf's sense of smell, but it is better than the average nation’s. There is one scent he would recognize anywhere. "Tino's here." That's all he needs to know. If Finland is in danger, he'll save him; even if Finland never wants to look at him again.

“We need to get to Norway,” says Hungary, squinting at the tree where all the wolves are barking.

Turning his face into the breeze, Sweden sniffs again. By the tree he mostly smells dog, along with cat, something fishy, and Denmark. The scent of Finland is fainter, from another direction. It’s mixed with others; he growls, recognizing the sharp iron of blood. “The house. We need t’go inside.”

XXX

In the basement cage, Finland is scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush. His strokes are weak, his eyes are drooping. Everything, including the bars of the cell, has been cleaned to the point of shining. Feliks has a designated a corner of the bed with a rolled up towel to rest his leg on, but he keeps twitching. "Stop moving. You're getting blood _everywhere_ ,” Finland hisses.

"I can't help it! I _hate_ being locked up, I need to get out. I hate cages so much, and Liet's out there..." Poland takes a deep breath. Panicking will not help. He aims all his ill will at Norway, who is chanting over Greece. "HEY! NORGE! You know what? Your hair looks _totally_ stupid. Who has a floating curl? Seriously."

Norway's concentration slips, yet again, and he snarls. It appears Poland has discovered that he can't finish the ritual properly if he's distracted. Unfortunately, the Pol is _very_ talented at distractions. "One more interruption from you, and I don't care how funny it'll be when you turn. I'll shut you up for good, here and now."

"IF ANYONE GETS ANY MORE BLOOD IN THIS ROOM I WILL RIP HEADS FROM SHOULDERS, GOT IT?!" Finland screams, raising his toothbrush like he might actually use it to sever someone's head.

Both of them flinch back. Even Greece twitches. Then Norway laughs, reaching through the bars to ruffle Finland's hair with dirty hands. "You're fun. This could be better than I expected: a tonttu actually fighting off a werewolf. I could sell tickets."

"EEEEEEH!" Finland howls. He runs over to the sink, dunks his head into the bowl, and turns on the water. "OUTOUTOUTOUTOUT!"

Upstairs, Hungary and Sweden jump, startled by the noise. "That sounded like it came from the basement. We should hurry," says Hungary.

Unfortunately, France and Canada are waiting outside the basement door. They’re still invisible to the naked eye, and they have been debating when and how to intervene with Norway’s apparently malevolent plans. It's very difficult; as time goes on and their lust remains unquenched, it becomes a lot harder to think – or to really care. So when a pair of nations appear ripe for the taking, they are perfectly willing to switch targets. "Let's just fuck those two!" France shouts, already reaching for Hungary.

Hungary pauses mid-step. "Why do I feel like something's perving on me?" Sweden’s in front of her, and they haven’t heard anyone else in the house. Better safe than sorry. She tosses a little freeze powder over her shoulder.

Sweden turns to look and immediately jumps back. "Demons!"

Hungary shrieks, whipping around to face them with another handful of powder in hand. But... No. It’s only France and Canada, frozen in full-on pounce. She knew they were incubi, but she’s never seen either of them allow the transformation to advance so far.

"Oh." She blinks, stepping out of pouncing-range. "The powder must have frozen their magic; they lose their invisibility without it. Maybe it will slow down the effects of their curse, too.” She shrugs it off. They have bigger problems at the moment.

"Do we leave 'em here?" asks Sweden, still cautious. Both incubi make noises of distress. "Think they know where Tino is?"

"You heard him," Hungary replies. Patting demonic Canada's head, she turns around and heads for the basement stairs. "Trust me, the less they move, the less trouble they'll be."

Norway hears them coming and sighs. It was only a matter of time, really, before someone managed to get inside. He can't remember locking the door; can't remember even _closing_ it after he let those idiot hunters escape, and that means Lukas got in his way. Growling, he covers Greece and his ritual with a sheet and moves to stand at the bottom of the stairs. There's enough of a hallway that the cages aren't visible from here, but he can look up at Hungary and Sweden. "Would you mind telling me why everyone is breaking into my house tonight?"

Hungary crosses her arms and glares. "I'd like to know why you didn't pick up the wolves, and why the hell I got a text from Aussie saying _'My sib's a sheep_.' Have you been hitting the sauce, Lukas? 'Cause tonight is so not the time."

At the sound of a new voice, Finland jolts up. He cracks his head on the sink with a yelp before he whips around to face the new intruders, and starts yelling before he can even see who they are. "Help! Get help, he's gone out of his mind!"

"Tin? Tino!” Sweden rushes forward, but Norway shoves him back with the push of a finger. Sweden gasps and holds his chest; that one finger practically knocked the breath out of him.

"Ah-ah," says Norway, shaking the finger. "You don't have a ticket to see the show. I suggest you turn around now and leave, before there's a tragic accident. A lot of those have been going around lately; I'm disappointed nobody's died.” He glances back toward Greece. “Well, not yet.”

Finland gasps, running for the bars at the sound of his husband’s voice. "Bernie! Bernie, run! Please, you have to get out of here! He's completely insane!"

"Um, NO! Don't leave us here!" Poland yells. He gets to his feet and limps over to the bars. "Otherwise I can't be blamed if I eat Mr. Clean here when I go all furry. I don't wanna be furry, and I bet he tastes like bleach!"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF THE BARS!" Finland screams, then checks himself. "Sorry, sorry. I- Forget it." He turns away from Poland to find both Sweden and Hungary giving him a funny look. "Berwald - Please. Go. Get somebody, get _Italy_. I'm sorry for everything, just please, save yourself!"

Sweden growls, the troll in him beginning to take control. If he doesn't keep his anger in check, it could get a lot worse. On the other hand, Finland is in danger, and there’s a chance he can match Norway’s magic with his troll-strength. He’s beaten the sorcerer before. "Norge. Don't want t'hurt y', but I will. Y'know it, too. I can snap y'like a twig."

Norway smirks, catching the glint of yellow in Sweden's eyes and the slight green tone of his skin. "Troll, don't you even try me. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"I'm not leaving," Sweden says. He holds Norway's gaze and takes a step forward, then grabs Norway’s upper arms to trap him there. They glare at one another, and Sweden recognizes a hatred in Norway's eyes that he hasn't seen since they were at war. No...not even then. It's not that kind of hate; it's not hate at all. It's..."Y're not Lukas. Y’re-"

Norway's twists a hand into Sweden's stomach and throws him back against the wall, hitting him with the equivalent of magical lightning bolt for good measure. Sweden goes limp. Norway dusts his hands and turns his attention to the remaining threat. "Now then. Miss Hungary...what to do with you?"

Hungary is shaking. Something that could so easily throw a troll into a wall and knock him unconscious is not going to go down with a handful of freeze powder. She tries anyway, tossing a handful at Norway and bolting for the stairs. She doesn't make it that far.

A hand claps down on her wrist, dragging her back with preternatural strength. " _No_!" she screams.

Norway draws her close against his body and presses his lips against her ear. "Shh, shh," he whispers. "It's okay. I just want to have some fun, and I don't appreciate anyone getting in the way of that. You can stay down here; enjoy the evening’s entertainment. A fae werewolf and a tonttu locked in a cage. One comes out. Which will it be?"

He throws her into one of the open cages, grabs hold of Sweden's body, and tosses him in with her. Hungary races to the door, but she’s too late. The cage slams shut and Norway locks it. " _Let me out_!" she screams, shaking the bars.

A cage away, Finland drops his toothbrush and runs for the bars separating him from his fallen husband. "Bernie?" He calls, squeezing a hand through the bars to reach for him. "Baby? Talk to me!"

Norway snorts. "How precious." He climbs up the stairs; it’s time to take control of the wolves, and make sure that the next ones to set foot on his property encounter some killer guard dogs. On his way out he passes the two frozen incubi, and laughs. "I thought there was something following me. Sex demons, really? Perhaps I’ll set you free when I return, and offer you a couple of treats downstairs." He strokes Canada's face once, then heads for the yard.

Downstairs, Sweden groans. "Tino? Tin I’m sorry. Tried t'help y', know y'don't want me..."

"It's okay, Baby..." Finland whispers, stroking Sweden’s cheek through the bars, wiping a little bit of dirt away. “It's okay. We'll work it out. I love you - always. I can't live without you." Tears are in his eyes, but he can't wipe them away. His hands are covered in grime. "I'm sorry for leaving the way I did. We'll work this out."

Sweden blinks, clearing the stars from his eyes, and reaches for Finland's hand. "Love y'too. M'sorry I...I am what I am."

Poland leans against the bars, trying to keep the weight off his bad leg. "Um, guys? That's really sweet and all, but we kind of have bigger problems than your relationship right now."

Frustrated, Hungary gives the bars a hard jolt. They can't just stay down here. They have to move, they have to _do_ something. She yanks at the door, then realizes the chain that's on the bottom hinge isn't wrapped like the others. "Huh." She drops to her knees.

The others hardly notice. Tino is too busy concentrating on his wayward husband. "It's not all you, Bernie! People overcome this every day. Couples get through this - _we_ can get through this. We can work it out! I don't even care who it was, doesn't that say something?" He tries to smile. "I just want to make it right."

Sweden frowns, confused; perhaps it’s just from the hit Norway gave him. He holds his stomach as he sits up, taking a good look at his wife. There doesn't _seem_ to be anything wrong with him, although he is missing his shirt. "Y'hurt? Something's gotten into Norge; something powerful."

"I'm fine." Finland says, drawing his hand away and wiping it on his pants. They're really dirty. "Norge isn't. Something's wrong with him. He's trying to turn Greece into a zombie!"

Hungary isn't even listening. Her eyes are on that last hinge. It's... Huh. It's just wrapped. Nothing’s attached. She yanks, hard enough for her to jerk the door open just enough for a small person like herself to slip through. She does so, and begins searching for the keys.

Sweden stares at the partially open door, then crawls to take a look at the broken chain. He recognizes the handiwork immediately, and almost smiles. "Denmark. Never thought I'd be glad for his tricks."

"What? Oh come on, why couldn't he have opened our door too?" Poland complains.

Sweden gets to his feet, stretching to test his strength. It’s not quite back to normal, but it should be enough. His body is quickly recovering from Norway's blow. He shoves his side against the door and it creaks open.

Finland gasps, blushing at the sight. "Oh My God. Bernie, don't hurt yourself!"

"Kinda too late for that," Hungary replies, emerging from the laundry room with the keys. "Trolls are resilient, though."

"T-Troll?" Finland croaks, looking to his lover with huge, confused eyes.

Sweden hangs his head. "I know. Y'don't...we'll talk later, when y're safe." Before Hungary can reach the second cage, he wraps his hands around the bars and wrenches the door off of its hinges.

"Whoa," mummers Poland. "Someone's been eating their vegetables."

" _Troll_?" Finland asks again. He barely registers the fact that the door is open. How can his husband be a troll? He's not messy, he's not even smelly! And he's so good-looking; trolls are supposed to be ugly! "H-How?! You can't be a troll, Bernie! You're nothing like a troll!"

"That's why y're upset, isn't it? I mean...I don't blame y'," Sweden replies.

Poland shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah, and my husband's a werewolf. Once again, super cute reunion and all, but...possessed Norway? Zombie? Me turning all fluffy and _not_ cute?"

"One problem at a time, Feliks." Hungary sighs, working quickly to try and undo the spell already taking hold of Greece. It's complex. If she's not careful, she'll kill him instead of saving him.

Poland huffs and sinks to the bed, but he watches Hungary work with no little worry. "Is he alive?"

"Barely," she answers, trying to pull at the trappings of the spell without stopping Greece's heart or causing the spell to trigger.

Finland takes a step back, still staring at Sweden. So much makes sense now, and yet so little. "You thought...I found an earring under our bed."

Sweden blushes to his ears. "Ah...was wondering what happened t'that."

"You were _wondering_?" Finland snaps. "Because whoever you're fucking wants it back?"

Sweden frowns. "What're y'talkin about? S'my earing. When I forget t'take Eliza's potion, I get...ugly.”

"Your ears aren't pierced!" Finland snaps.

"Tin..." Sweden doesn't know what to say. "I love y'. I don't want anyone else. I'm a troll, but I'd never hurt y'."

"Everybody just shut up!" Hungary demands, never looking away from Greece's body. "This is not the time for a lover's spat. I have to save somebody's life now, and it's a _very_ delicate process, so can you all give me some _silence_?"

All of them shut their mouths. Greece is obviously in deep trouble. He's barely breathing. "We need to get him a blood transfusion," Hungary says, carefully moving the candles and erasing the marks around Greece.

"Where exactly would you like us to find the equipment for that?" Poland replies. "Plus, if we don't get rid of crazy-ass demon Norway, he'll just come back and kill us all."

"He's not a demon. He's been possessed by a god," says Sweden.

"And now he's got some wolf-power." Hungary sighs, letting go of Greece and pressing her hands together to harness her magic. "We'll put him in stasis. That's the best I can do for now."

Finland frowns at Sweden. "You know what's going on?"

Sweden nods. "A little. Don't know how it happened, but I can guess. I know the god from the old days. S'Loki - the Trickster. And he's had a thousand years t'plan this."

"Awesome." Finland deadpans. Loki's the god who made him frightened of Sweden's religion in the first place, all those years ago. Now it seems like the god has decided to frighten everyone.

"Okay. We know what this is now," Hungary says as she layers the stasis over Greece. "We can fight it. We need... We need a distraction. Something to keep the bad god out of the way while we figure out what to do."

Poland scoffs. "I've been doing that for hours; Tino and I kept trying to piss him off so he’d leave Greece alone. It only worked for so long." He pauses, looking around the basement for some sort of idea. "You know, there’s something familiar about all of this. I can see things when I dance – things that haven’t happened yet, or happened a long time ago. Right before I was attacked I had a vision. There were three boys: stone, fire, and light. Then the light one went dark – that must have been Norway!”

“You saw this?” asks Hungary. “What else? Do you know how to fix him?”

Poland shakes his head. “It was really confusing. He was kind of…having sex with demons. I thought it was a metaphor for the possession, or some ritual I really don’t want to know about."

"What kind of demons?" asks Hungary.

"Horny demons?" Poland frowns. Then his face breaks into a smile and he laughs. "Hah! Ohmygod, I didn't even mean it like that. I mean, they had horns. Little ones. And...wings? It was kind of hazy."

Sweden glances up the stairs, the wheels of his mind turning. "Y'don't think..."

Hungary gasps, jumping to her feet. "The incubi!"

"What?" Finland blinks. "Since when are we talking about _sex_ demons?"

"Long story. No time," Hungry replies, brushing herself off and hurrying back to the laundry room. "We need water. I froze them upstairs."

"What should we do with Heracles?" asks Sweden. "If this doesn't work and Loki comes back down here, he’ll kill him for sure."

"Well, he's in stasis. We can't move him," says Hungary, waving a hand over Greece. "But we _can_ keep Loki out of the basement. We need an unbreakable lock."

Poland raises an eyebrow. "One that a god can't break? You're a good witch, Eliza, but you're not _that_ good."

"Oh, I'm not talking about me," she says, giving Sweden (and his hand) a very pointed look. When any part of a troll is turned to stone, the stone is unbreakable. That pinkie could be the best tool they have.

Sweden does not like that look; Hungary can be devious, in the right circumstances. "Ah...m'not gonna have sex with him, if that's what y're implying."

"No, Bernie," Hungary replies. "We need your pinkie."

Sweden looks from her to his hand, then to Finland, and back again. Does she want him to stand with his hand in the door forever? No...oh no. Surely she can't mean... "Y'want me t’cut off m'finger?"

"What?" Finland turns, shocked and immediately defensive of his husband.

"Nonsense," says Hungary. "You're right-handed. I'll do it for you."

" _What_?!" Finland repeats. "She's not serious. You can't be serious!"

"Troll limbs are unbreakable when they're stone." Hungary smiles pleasantly, as though teaching. "Not even a god could break it, if he even figured out it was there. C'mon, I'll grow it back for you. Please?"

"Are you kidding me?" says Poland. "You're going to cut off his finger?"

"Thank you! This is completely-" Finland starts.

"-should have happened like five hundred years earlier! All the good opportunities appear when we're at peace." Poland pouts. "It's your decision, I guess; but if you keep that door locked for all eternity, how are we going to get back down here to free Greece?"

"The pinkie should change back when Sweden takes his potion," says Hungary, grabbing one of the knives Norway/Loki was using for the ritual. "I have it brewing. Once the finger is all fleshy again, it..." Well, the thought is enough make anyone shudder. "It won't be a problem."

Sweden shakes his head. "Don't make it sound like it'll get moldy. But..." With a sigh he holds out his hand. "S'not like it'll make me any uglier."

Finland steps between the two. "No! No, there is _no way_ I'm letting you cut off Bernie's finger! He's _not_ a troll! He can't be! He's not even close to one!"

Sweden puts his other hand on Finland's shoulder. "Tino. M'sorry, but it’s true. I _am_ a troll. I should've told you long ago, but I thought if y'knew y'd hate me. S'ok if y'do. Just...let me do what I can t'help."

"You're not!" Finland says, pulling away. "You don't look like one! You're not ugly, or smelly, or untidy at all!"

"Because Liza's a kitchen witch and she makes me a potion!" Sweden yells, his voice rumbling like thunder. Finland flinches away, and he backs off. "M'sorry, really. Not everything about trolls is true, but I try not t'show y', because I _am_ ugly. M'too big, and...and green!"

"You- you're really...?" Finland asks, his eyes growing wide and his hand rising to his lips. He can't believe it. He's been told about trolls. They were the monsters under his bed when he was young, tracking mud into the house and rolling around on the bed, sullying it with stench and filth. To a tonttu, a troll is a boogeyman. On the other hand, he's never been a normal tonttu.

"Um, guys?" says Poland. "Once again, this discussion can happen later. Y'know, once this whole death and destruction thing is all sorted out."

Sweden sighs. "I promise, Tin, I'll tell y'everything when it's done."

Hungary doesn't wait for another protest. She takes Sweden's hand and slices the pinkie clean off, letting it drop to the floor with a little clack.

Sweden bites his lip and digs the fingers of his other hand into his palm. He might not have felt the finger, but since it _is_ unbreakable she cut him just below it. The smell of blood is everywhere now; between himself, Poland, and Greece, poor Finland must be having a heart attack. Sweden clutches his hand to his chest, trying his best to quell the troll urge to crush the one who hurt him. "Y'got...bandage? Fire? Something t'stop the bleeding?"

" _Shit_ , Bernie. Way to take it like a champ.” Poland shakes his head. “Right then. Let's go save the world, shall we?”


	25. Show Me Your Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungary, Sweden, Finland, and Poland make a deal with the incubi France and Canada in order to buy time. But can even a pair of demons handle the possessed Norway?

October 31, 9:30 PM

When they finally finish bandaging Sweden's hand, Finland is over his shock and Hungary has found a little cup to fill with water. Quietly, they make their way up the stairs and shut the door to the basement, jamming Sweden’s severed stone pinkie into the lock.

When they turn around, Finland nearly shrieks in surprise. The incubi are right by the basement door where Hungary left them, still posed in lecherous reaching. They have horns and wings, just as Poland said, as well as pointed tails. And they look a hell of a lot like France and Canada.

"Why am I not surprised? I mean, other than the foresight thing," Poland says from Sweden's back. He'd tried walking and failed by the time they reached the bottom of the steps, so the troll has him in a fireman's carry that leaves Sweden’s injured hand free. Poland has to admit he's impressed, if a little unnerved, by the glares Finland is sending his way.

Finland himself is rather unnerved in general, and half-wonders if Poland's the one he should be jealous of. "Just wake them up already," he demands.

Hungary grins, pouring the water over the demonic pair. France splutters and hisses, steam rising from his body. Frozen demons are never happy, since their temperature is usually very high. He raises his claws and growls and Hungary, just in case she has more of that powder. "Stay back, or I'll go to Roderick and suck him dry! And I mean that in _every_ sense of the term."

"As if you haven't tried," Hungary snaps. The pair snarl, extending their claws, so she raises her hands in defense. "Wait! I come in peace!"

"Oh, really?" Canada hisses. "Because we're not feeling very peaceful."

" _Stop fighting_!" Sweden growls. His voice sounds so menacing that everyone turns to stare at him instead. He blushes a little. "I mean...s'bigger problems. We need t'work together."

"Right!" says Poland. "You two need to screw Norway!"

France raises an eyebrow. "That was the plan, actually. Until _someone_ got in our way."

"We’re serious!" Hungary replies. "We need you to distract him for at least a few hours. Possibly days."

Canada pauses and glances at France, eyebrows raised in surprise. Well, now. A witch begging an incubus to have sex with someone? That _never_ happens. Better milk it for all it's worth. "Well... I don't know how we could, with the way we've been treated."

France almost smirks; look at his little prodigy, coming up with clever plans. "Oh, too true,” he adds. “To freeze us that way was dreadfully cruel; cools the fire in our blood, you know."

"Fine," Hungary snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

Canada thinks for a moment, then says, "I want space in your dreams. For a year."

"I would take the same, but that would leave you in a sorry state. Convince dear Roderick to let me have a space in _his_ dreams instead. No...wait." France shakes his head; this is the chance to solve a larger problem, and perhaps to end years of trouble for himself, England, Canada, and America. "We need more than one vict- _volunteer_. We need people willing to let us into their dreams, every once in a while, so that _this_ ," he tugs on Canada's tail, "does not happen, and no one is drained."

Sweden raises an eyebrow. That sounds...very reasonable. How strange. However, there's no way he wants a couple of incubi invading his wife's dreams, and he is fairly certain the Finland would not want him to volunteer either. "Y're gonna have t'ask someone else."

"Well someone will have to vouch for us, at least," France replies.

"Fine. _Fine_ ," Hungary sighs, slightly annoyed at the prospect of letting her energy be drained, yet also amused that it might be drained so pleasurably. "We'll work it out later; start a rotation or something. Maybe a calendar."

"Done," says Canada, his tail twitching happily. "Now. Where's our... friend?"

_"Here."_

Poland groans. "Please tell me that's a different friend."

Unfortunately, they all turn to find Norway standing in the hallway, the wolf-form of Belarus at his side. He pets her ears and smiles. "She did not want to play with the others. I thought she might like to play with you instead."

Hungary pales and takes a step back. That bitch is not one to mess with, in either form. She's running very low on freeze-powder, but she may have enough to get away.

Finland moves in front to defend her, but Canada moves faster, taking long strides toward Norway. When he gets close enough, he reaches out and touches the god's cheek, blowing pheromones into his face. "Fuck me."

That's all he needs to say, really. Every other creature in the room is now utterly entranced.

France follows, grinning and lacing his voice with charm. "We came just to see you, cheri, and we are _aching_. We can feel your power; give us a taste, non?"

While Canada and France circle their prey, Sweden leans close to Hungary and Finland. The pain in his hand and the sheer hard-headed nature of trolls protect him some from the demons’ spell. "We need t’go, soon as they’re…ah…y’know."

"... Huh?" Finland blinks, looking up at his husband after a moment of being hypnotized. "Right! Right. Um. Yeah." He takes Sweden’s free arm, trying not to stare at the incubi.

Hungary, however, is blatantly staring. "Holy fuck, I'm actually wet right now," the witch whispers under her breath.

Poland is practically drooling on Sweden's shoulder, and he's pretty sure his hard-on is pressing into the troll’s neck. "Whoa. So, totally count me in as a volunteer or whatever. Liet won't mind, as long as he gets to join in."

Norway chuckles. He trails his fingers down France's back until he reaches the tail and gives it a vicious tug. "How sweet. I must admit you are very good at this. It has been a while since I indulged in such pursuits. Though I see my pets have broken out of their cages; I _am_ going to have to punish them."

France groans into his ear, his forked tongue darting out to trace the shell of it. "Punish us instead. We can help you punish them later, and everyone will have a wonderful time!"

"Please?" Canada begs, stroking his hand down Norway's strong chest. "I've been _aching_ for a good punishment all day."

"Oh, yes please," Hungary whispers, then claps her hand over her mouth. Sweden’s right, they need to stop watching this. But it feels impossible to look away.

"Guys, I have an idea," says Poland. "You just put me down wherever they're gonna do it, and I'll keep an eye on things. Possibly help out, too. If they-"

Sweden accidentally conveniently jostles Poland's leg, effectively breaking Poland free from the incubi’s spell. The ear full of curses is well worth it.

"I promise, it'll be worth your while," Canada continues. "I'll bet Denmark doesn't give it to you half as good as we would."

Norway snorts. "The imp? Well..." There's a protest from deep inside his mind. _Oh? So he_ does _give it to you?_ Lukas seethes, and Loki laughs out loud. Ruining relationships is one of his favorite hobbies. "How can I say no to that? I've never fucked one incubi before, let alone two. That seems a terrible thing to leave off an otherwise impressive resume."

"Mmm, it'd be such a waste," Canada purrs, leaning over to kiss France on the mouth and give Norway a show. Who could resist such a sight? He can smell the room full of arousal from here. He slides his hand down, fondling France's crotch. "Do you really want to miss your chance at this?" He breathes, licking his slick lips.

Norway smiles, takes their hands, and guides the pair into the very room where Mattias last made love to Lukas. This is going to be more fun than he thought. He snaps his fingers at the wolf. "Belarus. Be a dear and encourage Denmark to look in the window. We can leave the light on."

The wolf snaps at everyone else in the room, then turns back outside. The door to the den closes, cutting off the strength of the incubi’s pheromones.

Hungary sighs with relief, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it. "Okay," she says. "Okay - I think we need to get another witch here. Pronto."

"... Huh?" Finland blinks.

"Look, we need something to evict a bad god from our world. I'm just one little witch, and my power is weak as anything right now." She shrugs. "I need help."

"Who else is a witch?" asks Poland.

"S'no one else available. Norge said England was drained, and Romania’s gotten stuck somewhere – again," Sweden replies. "S’the reason we all go t'Norge for help these days."

" _Fuck_." Hungary curses as she paces away from the group. "We need something. There has to be _something_ that can get this thing out of Luk's body." She pauses, turning to Sweden. "Where's he keep his altar?"

"Don't know,” Sweden replies. “S'private, haven't seen it in more than a hundred years. Mattias might know."

The howl of a wolf echoes through the night. Hungary sighs. "I guess we'll need some wolfsbane and a ladder, then. And when they’re angry, there’s only so much wolfsbane can do."

"Not necessarily," says Poland. "Not that I really want to play bait, but they seemed to think I was tasty. Besides, I'm supposed to be, like, one of them now, right? Maybe I can talk to them."

"Are you kidding?" Finland asks, raising his eyebrows. "Are you looking to get ripped to shreds? You'll-"

He's cut off by the sound of a loud, lusty moan from the den, then a rather inhuman shriek and a laugh that sounds like something out of a horror movie. They all look at one another, then at the door, silently deliberating the wisdom of a rescue operation. There's another shriek, and suddenly a twisted set of talons that do not belong to the incubi impale themselves through the door.

"Ok, time to go," says Poland. "I mean...let us not waste the brave sacrifice of our friends. Giddyup, Bernie!" He smacks Sweden's arm.

Sweden's eyebrow twitches in a way that normally indicates those under his gaze should run. "Call me horsey and I'll drop y'."


	26. It’s the Great Tomato, Germany!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany finds himself a victim of the Tomatofae, alongside an oblivious Spain. This could end nicely...or very, very badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some semi-explicit kanoodling in this chapter.

The moon is the first thing Germany sees when he opens his eyes, and for a moment he thinks he's losing his mind. Ghastly red and full, it smirks down at him. He shudders. Where is he? That moon looks nearly alien.

He tries to move, but his arms are heavy. Then he looks down and sees why: there are ropes around his wrists and chest, locking him to a... a giant red thing with green vines.

Spain feels the shifting of the rope and waves at his partner in captivity. "Hola amigo! They've certainly gone all out this time, haven't they? It's so cute!"

Germany's eyes widen as he realizes he's not alone. "Ah - Cute... Um..." He stares at Spain, wondering if the man has any inkling of what's going on. He himself is completely lost, but he tries to pretend he knows exactly what's happening. "Yes, yes." He nods agreeably, looking around for the Italians.

Germany is looking in the wrong direction, so Spain helpfully gestures with his head. "They're over there, dancing for us! They must have been practicing."

Both North and South Italy are dancing, but Germany thinks it looks like something unrehearsed, something completely primal. They are also completely naked.

"Hail Tomato, hail!" Romano sings, undulating his hips as he and Vene twirl around each other, weaving magic between them. "The fruit of love and life! Red and bright in blood moonlight, we sacrifice, we sacrifice! Tomato-mato-mato!"

... What're they singing? Germany gulps; even such sexy dancing can't distract him from the fact that the word 'sacrifice' seems to be a theme. "Ah... I'm not sure this is for us."

"Really?" asks Spain, looking devastated. "You think there's someone else? But Romano called me his sacrifice and everything!"

Germany would slap him if he could move his arms. He settles for fixing Spain with a glare that never seems to register. "Sacrifice. Doesn’t that word, perhaps, sound a little negative?"

"Eh? But I sacrifice things for 'Mano all the time, and I mean it in a good way! I thought maybe he was finally going to do some for me," says Spain.

"Ve, ve, ve! Tomato is life and love, tomato is free!" Vene spins around, pointing his tomato wand at everything in passing. New tomatoes are popping up left and right with each wave of their wands, and finally Romano takes his brother's hand, spinning him. "Tomato is free! Hail the Tomato!"

Germany flinches. "I would not count on it being the good kind of sacrificing." He starts trying to worm his way free, but his hands are large and the knots are tight. He curses. "Damn it, Antonio! Get us out of here!" Then he realizes he's relying on _Spain_ for salvation. He starts to pray.

"Alright, alright! Dios Mio! You're so pushy." Spain begins squirming, remembering the tricks from his pirate days.

"HEY!" A tomato wand is shoved threateningly into his face. "No escaping! The Great Tomato must be honored!"

Spain swallows. "...ah...Mano, maybe this is a little too much, si? I know Ludwig likes this sort of thing, but I was never into bondage."

"Silence!" Romano snaps, leaning into Spain's face with an all-too serious expression. "You shall stay. The Great Tomato requires a sacrifice of life, of body!" He jabs the wand's point into Spain's chest. "And you're the _only_ one fit for the sacrifice."

Oh Dear Sweet God. The look on Vene's face has Germany half-hard and half-scared. "Vene, please! Please, no, please! I love you! Don't- don't!"

"No! The hour is upon us, the Great Tomato rises. It is time for the sacrifice!" Vene reaches down and caresses Germany's face. "You are ripe and ready."

"You have been ripe for decades," Romano adds, narrowing his eyes. He leans in and grips Spain's shirt, twisting it in his fingers before literally ripping it from Spain's body.

Spain is having Aztec flashbacks, and none of them are good. "Mano...Romano please! HEARTS DO NOT MAKE RAIN!"

"Vene, have you lost your mind? It's me, Ludwig! I love you, please!" Germany begs, fearing for his very life and limb at the hands of the one he most adores.

Vene skips the shirt and goes straight for Germany's pants, ripping them open and whipping them off his body. He smiles, momentarily looking like his usual self. "I know you do Luddy. That's why you're the perfect sacrifice!"

"What does - my pants? Vene!" But suddenly, Vene yanks him into a long, hot kiss and grinds against his body. Germany finds he doesn't mind at all. It's a world and a half better than the alternative.

Romano smirks, leaning in to bite Spain's lower lip, his hands working quickly to divest him of his remaining clothes. "Shut up, fool. A good sacrifice praises the Great Tomato for his reward."

"For...the..." Spain is now completely perplexed, but his pants are gone and Romano is palming him. He's just going to go with it.

Squeezing Spain's cock, Romano tips his head back and looks to the sky. "TOMATOOOOOO!" he howls, before lunging at his sexy sacrificial bastard.

Vene hums, running his hands over Germany. "You know what it means, right? We need your essence, your love. The tomato is a fruit of passion, and the Great Tomato demands such sacrifices." He groans, looking up as he ruts against Germany. Then he smiles widely at the sky. "Look! The GREAT TOMATO! ALL HAIL!"

Germany blinks. Essence and love. As in... "Oh." He breathes, his cheeks flaming. He looks up toward the sky. "Ah. Hail...tomato." The moon shines red overhead, and a grin spreads over his face. "Great Tomato!"


	27. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Hungary cooks up a potion to save Norway the other nations try to buy her more time. But with Norway's magic under Loki's control, they may end up paying with their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! We are very close to the end of the story, and we should have the climax for you in time for Halloween!

The moment Hungary, Finland, Sweden, and Poland leave the house, Lithuania bounds over and growls at Sweden until he puts Poland down. The reunion that follows is adorable, with a great deal of licking and furry hugs. Unfortunately, the rest of the wolves are not in the mood to negotiate. They snap at anyone who comes too close, and continue to whine up at Turkey. Japan is at his wit's end, having attempted to distract them for several hours now with no success. And Denmark...has no idea what was going on.

Due to the wolves’ interference, Hungary is forced to shout up at the tree in order to communicate with him. To his credit, Denmark is unwilling to give up the location of Norway's altar immediately. They have to explain the situation (twice), and it is not until Sweden swears that Norway is in danger that he points to the distant cave.

"Really," Poland says later, resting against the fluffy version of Lithuania, "this should have been kind of obvious. Random, scary cave next to their house? It practically screams ‘Secret Magical Altar Here’."

Sweden shushes him. "She's concentrating. Don't distract 'er." They've been in the cave for an hour now. Sweden and Finland have been helping Hungary cook while Poland reads the directions off of the cook-book on Hungary's phone and cuddles with Lithuania.

"Okay, we need eighteen drops of unicorn blood. There's only about ten here," says Hungary, shaking the little vial in her hand. "Norway has to have more somewhere; he's the one who's been buying it out."

"I'll check the pantry," Finland says.

He tries to leave the cave and head toward the house, but Sweden is not about to let him walk in there alone. With his troll blood active he seems even bigger than usual. His broad shoulders block the cave’s entrance, sending his shadow across the floor. "S'not safe. I'm not letting y'get hurt again."

"We need the ingredients!" Finland snaps. He does not like it when his husband tries to tell him what to do. Particularly right now, when he's so mad at him. "Francis and Matthew have Loki under control. We may never have a better chance, and if I don't find that unicorn blood we'll never be able to save Lukas!"

"I need more mermaid's bane, too!" Hungary calls, stirring her cauldron vigorously. "Hurry! I can't stop stirring until I add them."

"Y'saw what was happening! There's nothing _controlled_ about it!” Sweden shouts. "I'll go. There’s less chance Loki will be able t’hurt me – at least, not permanently."

Poland sees the protest on Finland's lips and rolls his eyes. "For heaven's sake, just go together! Oh, and check on Japan. Poor thing's still trying to keep the wolves off Turkey and Denmark. They’re bad dogs, not like my Liet. Who’s my good boy?" He scratches Lithuania’s ears, and the wolf’s tail thumps against the stone floor.

Finland presses his lips tightly together in frustration. But Poland is right. He crosses his arms over his chest and ducks under Sweden’s arm on his way out. He still can't believe all of this, especially that he married a troll! Yet he saw Hungary cut off of Sweden's stone finger with his own eyes; he supposes it has to be true. However, none of it explains how an earring ended up in their bedroom. That is something they will need to discuss after they put the wayward god back where he belongs.

Outside, Japan is attempting to distract Estonia, Latvia, Belarus, and Ukraine all at once. Since Turkey is still in the tree, his tail fluffed up in terror, nothing is working particularly well. He’s managed to get the attention of one or two a few times, but never for very long. He claps his hands, then starts kicking rocks toward the wolves. But the wolves are only thinking ' _catcatcatcatCAT_ ', and they continue to scratch at the tree and try to snatch Turkey's tail between their teeth.

Denmark remains on his branch, oblivious to their peril. "I just don't know what Luk’s thinking half the time, man," he sighs. "I mean, one minute he hates my guts, the next minute we're fucking on the couch and he's yelling my name. So bizarre. I can't help but love it, though. He's so hot when he's pissed."

When all this is over, Turkey has decided he and Denmark need to go out for a drink. Right now, however, he has bigger problems. For instance, Latvia can _jump_. It isn't going to be long before the he manages to grab hold of a branch or something. Turkey hisses down at wolves and waves desperately to Japan. "Kiku, you tried the rocks already! Haven't you got...something?! A leash, maybe?"

Annoyed, Japan looks down at his hands. He could easily whack all four of them across the yard if he could use his tentacles. That's a last resort; he’ll never reveal his true form if he can help it.

Sweden and Finland pause by the tree, assessing the situation for some way they might help. Unfortunately, there is no time to come up with a plan. Sweden shakes his head. "They're hunting. Lukas always said they get determined when they hunt. They won’t leave unless something better comes along, or the alpha calls ‘em off. Which...does make me wonder where Russia is."

Finland raises an eyebrow. Well, they can only thank God for small favors. "We'll try to find something to scare them off inside," he says, patting Japan’s shoulder sympathetically. Then he joins Sweden in racing for the house.

The inside is filled with muffled shouts, groans, and cries that could be pain or pleasure.

_"Mon Dieu! That is NOT my tail!"_

Sweden shudders. After this, the world may indeed owe the incubi a little extra energy. He and Finland sneak past the door and into the kitchen. "Be careful," he says. "There’s a chance Loki messed with all the bottles."

"I know what unicorn blood looks like," Finland replies. He searches through the vials and jars on the shelves, tutting at the disorganization and trying to ignore the fact that he's in a small space with the husband he's so confused about. Yet all he can think about is how big and tall Sweden is, how sexy his voice sounds. With the sounds of the incubi echoing through the house and his husband so close, he'd give anything to forget the last two days and jump his bones. "Fucking incubus pheromones," he mutters.

Sweden frowns, attempting to ignore his own increasing awareness of the very same thing. He doesn't understand why Finland keeps wavering between anger and passion. It's frustrating, and it's starting to make him angry too. If he wanted, he could snap that little body like a- no. _NO_. He will not let the instincts of a troll take hold, not ever again.

The tension between them is thick and a little suffocating. Finally, Finland sighs and turns to face his husband, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen, I know we don't have a lot of time right now, but I just want you to know that I want to work this out. Troll or not, I love you. And people make mistakes."

It's enough to break Sweden's heart, or make him wish it would turn to stone. "I wish y’would trust me," he replies. "Though I suppose, since I never told y’about being a troll, y'don't have a reason to." He shuts his eyes briefly and forces his blood to cool. Finland is right; there's no time for this now. He reaches over Finland's head and pulls down a basket labeled Mermaid's Bane. It's filled with very fine netting. "This right?"

"Looks like it," Finland whispers, something about the closeness and Sweden's stretching muscles making his mouth dry. He feels hot just looking at him, the way he used to feel before they ever touched each other. Something about the pheromones in the air is definitely fucking with him. "Do... Do you see any bottles made of unicorn horn? That's the only thing that can contain the blood."

Sweden grunts and looks through the shelves again. "Don't want t’know how Luk gets some of this stuff," he mutters, finally discovering a spiraled, cone-shaped object with a stopper at one end. "This it?"

"Yes." Finland’s voice comes out a little rough. He clears his throat and takes the bottle, leaning a little closer as he drops it into the basket of mermaid's bane.

"Good. We should-" Suddenly, a wave of heat and energy explodes through the house, so strong it knocks them both back against the counter. It's accompanied by a shriek, and followed shortly by another. Sweden wraps his body around Finland, protecting him from the buffeting. "We should go!" he calls over the noise.

Finland nods. He clutches the basket in one hand and Sweden with the other, allowing Sweden to drag him from the pantry and toward the front door. They reach the living room, steps away from the door, when a loud groan makes them freeze. The door to the den bursts open, and France and Canada limp out. They’re both back to their human forms and clinging to one other pathetically. "I... Oh... _owe_..." Canada whines, hobbling from the room like an old man. " _Never. Again_."

"I have experienced things this night which are...unspeakable." France collapses on the floor, bringing Canada down with him.

Norway exits behind them, smirking slightly as he steps over the prone forms. "Well. That was fun. What now?" His eyes land on Sweden and Finland, and his grin widens.

The face alone is creepy; Norway does not smile often, and he _never_ grins. Sweden adjusts his grip on Finland and runs for the door. Unfortunately, trolls are not known for their speed. By the time he crosses the threshold, Norway is only steps behind them. There’s no way they can both make it back to the cave. Sweden hugs Finland against his body and starts running. If he can just make it far enough… "Tino, I'm going t’throw you. Gently. But then y'gotta run; Liza _has_ to have those ingredients."

"No, no! We can run, we can go together!” Finland begs. He squirms to get out of Sweden’s arms, but the troll is too strong.

Canada barely registers any noise beyond the ringing in his ears. He feels like a flattened pancake. But through the haze, he notices Norway stepping over them, heading too quickly toward the fleeing couple. Maybe he did absorb some energy from America after all, because in that moment he decides to play the hero. He throws himself toward Norway and grabs his ankle.

With a growl Norway shakes his foot, trying to dislodge the incubus. "You’re useless now. Let go."

France forces his eyes open. It takes him a moment to comprehend Canada's actions, and then his mind clears. They're supposed to be keeping Norway distracted, and if they give up now the consequences could be disastrous. He crawls forward and reaches out to claw at Norway's other foot. "We're just getting started."

Norway rubs his hands together, a nasty spell building between them. "You are going to regret that."

The incubi give Sweden enough time to make it in sight of the tree. He squeezes Finland for a moment and whispers, " _Trust me_." Then he tosses his wife.

"BERNIE!" Finland yells, but he's already airborne, soaring over the grounds.

Not too far away, Denmark blinks, watching him arc above the tree. "Huh. I didn't know he could fly."

A shriek from within the house makes even the wolves pause in their pursuit of the treed Turkitty. Sweden forces himself to turn away from the cave as soon as he sees Finland land safely. He straightens up and turns to Japan, expression solemn. "Loki’s coming. He’s angry, he’s strong, and he can control the wolves. Got t'be ready."

When _Sweden_ says be ready, the others know they need to prepare for one hell of a fight. Japan curls his fists, feeling his body's secret pushing at the tips of his fingers and toes. His limbs want to stretch, expand, to show their strength. It seems they will soon be given a chance.

Turkey cautiously makes his way to the edge of the branch. If Japan's in trouble, he will leap onto anyone who attacks him and claw their eyes out, even it is the last thing he does before being eaten alive. "I thought the brat was bad,” he tells Denmark. “Turns out your lover's nuttier.”

"Norge?" Denmark smiles. "Oh yeah. He's totally nuts. Did I ever tell you about that time...?"

A figure emerges from the house. Norway. No - not Norway at all. Loki has given up all pretenses. The body is still one Sweden recognizes, one he’s known for thousands of years. Yet the difference is obvious even to those who don't know the real Norway well. It's in his eyes, his sneer, the way he carries himself. There’s an aura around him, a swirling, chaotic mix of green and shadow. Sweden can almost taste the taint of it on the air.

Only Denmark remains ignorant, his senses dulled by the proximity of so much iron. He leans off his branch and waves at Norway happily. "Hey, Norge! Hey! Think you can get me down now? That would be awesome!"

Norway pauses a few feet away, looking over the little group. When he snaps his fingers, the wolves abandon the tree and flank him on either side. "What have we here? Four nations looking for a fight? That's boring. I think I would much rather see _monsters_."

Japan tenses at the word and narrows his eyes. "Then you can look in a mirror," he snaps, curling his fists tighter.

"A mirror, eh?" says Norway. "I think you’ve been avoiding those for a long time. I think it's high time for all of you to see one another as you truly are." He makes a sign in the air with his fingers. It glows gold, and he pushes it forward.

Japan gasps and tries to jump back, but the glowing gold bursts and pierces them all. He shouts as his body convulses, his heart pounding triple-time as his fingers quiver, bend back, then burst into long, thick tentacles. His toe tentacles burst through his shoes, and soon he's instinctively climbing up the walls of the house, looking somewhat like an octopus or a spider with twenty legs and a human body attached. His eyes melt into blackness and his teeth grow and sharpen into fangs. Japan shrieks in horror at himself, at the monster he's always hidden inside.

Sweden buries his face in his hands, trying to hide the change. However, it would take a great deal more than that to hide a fully grown troll. His skin is green, he's nearly nine feet tall, and a long tail with a tuft of fur at the end curls out from his pants. He drops his hands and roars, revealing too many teeth and pointed, pierced ears.

Up in the tree branches, Turkey hasn't changed much. He was never able to hide his cat-like features, except with the way he dressed. He glances at Denmark to see if he knows what happened and discovers a blue-skinned imp with a devil's tail, horns, sharp teeth, and bright red eyes in his place. "HOLY CRAP!" Turkey falls out of the tree, landing on his feet with his tail fluffed out. The wolves get excited, but wait for Norway's command.

Denmark swings on the tree branch, hanging upside down to look at Turkey. "What?"

Turkey scrambles back, only to run into Sweden. "Holy crap!" He doesn’t think his eyes can go any wider until he spots Japan. "You're...but...what the fuck is going on here?!"

Norway laughs aloud. "Well here we are! The battle of the century: my wolves versus you mismatched monsters." He strokes Estonia's head. "Kill them."

Japan narrows his eyes as the wolves start charging. As long as he's a monster, he can act like one. With a shriek, he whips out a tentacle strong enough to throw Ukraine and Belarus clear across the yard. All too quickly the wolves shake themselves off and come at Japan again.

Turkey hisses at the wolves heading for Japan. He does not like the dogs, and they _have_ been trying to eat him for the past several hours. However, Turkey is not so easily frightened away. Those beasts are going after what is his to protect, and he will not allow any harm to come to Japan. With a cry he leaps at Belarus, sending them both tumbling in a pile of fur and claws.

Beneath the tree, Estonia and Latvia face off against Sweden. As Latvia charges, Sweden puts an arm up in defense and lets the wolf bite it. His skin is too thick for the wolf to break , and the bite feels more like a pinch. He doesn't want to hurt his fellow nations, no matter what they are. He won't have that blood on his hands again. But those jaws are stronger than they look. Eventually, they will snap through his arm.

Estonia goes for Sweden’s leg instead, barreling into it with enough force to make him stumble. Latvia hangs on tight with his teeth, clawing at Sweden’s body while Estonia turns to charge again. Sweden may not wish to hurt them, but he can feel Latvia’s teeth sink deeper into his arm, drawing blood. If he doesn’t fight back they may succeed in bringing him down, and then they could go after Finland and the others instead. He throws Latvia off with a roar and catches Estonia with a kick to the wolf’s chest.

Latvia hits the tree, throwing the impish Denmark from his branch. This time the blow sends him clear over iron chain wrapped around the bottom, and for the first time in hours he finds himself free and his head clear.

"Whoa." Denmark shakes himself out of it, staring up at the giant troll Sweden and the tentacle monster hanging from their roof. He’s got to stop watching anime while drinking. Then he turns his head and sees Norway walking toward that cave he likes to redecorate every once in a while. He stands up, pointy tail wagging as he races to catch up. "Hey, Norge! What gives, man? You left me up in that tree for... a while!"

Norway pauses. He can feel Lukas pound at the walls of his mind, and it makes him smirk. "So you've finally gotten free. Luk wishes you hadn't, you know. He's right; you were safer in the tree."

"Huh?" Denmark asks. He scratches his arm. For some reason, his rune tattoos are kind of itchy. "Dude, there's all sorts of crap going on! Did you know Turkey likes to wear cat ears and stuff? It's freaking hilarious!" His tail swishes in delight. He's oblivious to all supernatural beings (including himself), even when they're directly in front of him. "But whatever, right? Hey, can't we go to bed? It's been a long day."

"A long night, rather,” Norway replies, “and it is going to last forever. Stay out of my way, and maybe we'll go to bed later. You can ask France and Canada how well that worked out for them."

Norway strides away through the melee as though he’s on a walk through the park. He can see movement in the cave, and he knows they're going to try something stupid to free Lukas. He'll have to put a stop to it, just in case they actually find a way to succeed.


	28. God of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With help from Hungary's potion, Norway joins the fight against Loki from within his own mind. Denmark may have the power to expel the god, but there will be blood before the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments and kudos! We really appreciate them. Sorry this is a little later than expected, but this is an extra-long, extra-exciting chapter! We hope you enjoy it.

Finland lands with a hard thud a couple of feet away from the mouth of the cave.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" Poland calls, crawling a little closer. Lithuania barks and runs out to him, sniffing at his face.

The breath was knocked out of Finland when he landed, so he just holds out the basket and points to the cave. Lithuania dutifully takes it in his teeth and returns to Hungary. Task complete, Finland drops back to the dirt and attempts to get the stars out of his eyes. At least nothing feels broken. Tontuu may be small, but they’re sturdy.

By the time he’s able to breathe almost-properly and walk into the cave, Hungary has added the ingredients to her potion. There’s a floral scent in the air that makes him feel more alert, yet light-headed at the same time. It’s very strange, but there’s no time to consider it. A gust of wind and a burst of gold suddenly fill the cave, and he nearly falls to the floor again.

Finland catches himself on the cave wall. He can feel the stone shift beneath his fingers. No…it isn’t the stone moving, it’s _him_. His whole body is shrinking by a good foot, though his fingers and toes get longer, pressing against the front of his shoes. "Huh." He blinks down at himself. He didn't shift. What the heck is going on?

Hungary shrieks, whipping away from the cauldron and clapping a hand over her nose - her incredibly long, arched nose. The whole cave is suddenly much brighter, and Finland turns to see that Poland’s body is glowing with white light, all the way to the pointed tips of his ears. Beside him, Lithuania remains a wolf, apparently unfazed by whatever magic has forced them into their supernatural forms.

"Um, guys?" Poland’s voice is like a spell now, and when he speaks they all turn to listen. "We have a problem. I mean, other than the sudden transformation thing."

For a moment, Finland remains transfixed by Poland. Then he sees movement over his shoulder, and Lithuania starts to growl. Norway is heading for the cave. "Oh, shit," Finland whispers. He glances toward Hungary. "Tell me it's ready."

"Almost!" she promises, still attempting to cover her nose with one hand as she stirs the pot faster. "Just one more second and... Why isn't it turning topaz like it's supposed to?"

"You're telling us this _now_?" Poland hisses.

"We need more time," says Finland.

Poland glances around the cave for inspiration, and his eyes land on Lithuania. He saw what happened when Norway talked to the other wolves; they followed him without question. But Lithuania is different. Lithuania is _his_ werewolf, and he can use the full power of a wila’s voice. Poland puts his hands on either side of Lithuania’s furry face and looks him in the eye. "Toris. We... _I_ need you. Slow Norway down, and don't listen to a word he tells you. Give Hungary time to finish the potion."

Lithuania's wolfy heart is beating out of his chest. Norway is a threat to his beloved, and at Poland's command he is ready to put his life on the line. If this Not-Norway is so powerful, he may not come out of this intact, but for Poland, he'll fight to the death. He licks Poland's face and the Poland hugs him, burying his face in Lithuania’s fur for one long moment. Then Lithuania turns around, hackles raised, teeth bared, tail out straight and alert as he charges toward the mouth of the cave, growling low at Not-Norway's approach.

Norway simply reaches toward him, expecting this wolf to be as easy to control as the others. "Stand down," he commands.

Instead Lithuania narrows his eyes and snaps at Norway’s hand. His tail is sticking straight out as he snarls, demanding Not-Norway to _back off_.

"Whoa," Denmark says, raising his eyebrows. "That one _really_ doesn't like you."

Norway frowns. " _Stand down_. Heel!" The wolf won't listen. Norway doesn't understand it; he’s always had power over wolves, so why is this one...there's something glowing white in the corner of his vision. _Ah, of course_ , he thinks. Lithuania is following the voice of a wila, the voice of his mate. Even he cannot overcome that. He'll have to get rid of the fairy. It’s a shame, really; a wila-wolf would have been so interesting. He raises his hand and throws an electric pulse at Poland.

 _No_! Lithuania leaps in front of Poland, shrieking when he's hit. He’s thrown back into the cave, where he collapses on the ground in a fit of seizures. He needs to get up. He needs to _fight_. He tries, but his body is still suffering the pulse. He can barely whine.

"TORIS!" Poland screams. He drags himself over to the wolf and hovers over him, trying to help but afraid to touch him.

"Whoa, dude," says Denmark. "Uncool."

Norway just laughs, raising his hands to draw spell symbols in the air. "I'm going to burn this place to the ground."

"Whoa-whoa, you _just_ redecorated!" Denmark cries. He grabs Norway’s arm to still it, but suddenly jolts back in pain and grips his bicep instead. His tattoos feel like they're _burning_. "What the hell?"

"Hungary, NOW!" Finland yells. They each scoop up a bucket full of the topaz potion and run at Norway. Together they throw the potion at his face, covering Norway in the stuff and splashing Denmark. It doesn't seem to affect the imp, but Norway drops to his knees and grabs hold of his head.

"You little ingrates! I'll kill you!" he bellows. Inside, the walls that trap Lukas’ mind shatter. Lukas is awake, and while Loki is in pain he forces his will back into his body. With a gasp his eyes widen, and he looks around at them all. "Get away! He's still here, it's Loki!"

Finland steps back, his eyes widening at the shifting look on Norway's face. Denmark backs up as well; he has not heard that name in a long time. He reaches out again, tentatively this time. "Norge? You okay? C-Can you look at me?"

Hungary is the only one who keeps moving. She grabs another bucket and tosses it at Norway's feet, hoping that more of the potion will help to ground him. "What do we do?!" she calls as she steps back toward the cauldron to refill the buckets.

"You can't, this isn't going to be enough. The only one who can stop him is..." The hand on Norway’s shoulder makes him jump, and his eyes brighten at the sight of Denmark. "Mattias! Matt, you have to listen to me right now. You've got to-ah!"

Norway grabs his head again, and his eyes flicker from blue to green. "Do _nothing_ ," Loki hisses. "If you force me out of this body I’ll take your friend with me."

The eyes flash back to blue, and Norway grabs Denmark's hand. "He's lying! He can't do anything to me. Don't hesitate, Matt!"

"Don't- What?" Denmark asks. "What is it? What can I do?” His tattoos feel like they’re on fire, and they turn white in his blue skin. Yet all he cares about is Norway clutching him and the panic on his face.

"In the kitchen, on the refrigerator, there's a note-" Norway groans, nails digging into Denmark's skin. He fights to stay in control of his mind, but Loki's grip is returning. He struggles against him until it feels like his head is going to burst.

"Note," Denmark whispers, nodding slightly. He's pale as a ghost, which makes him look like a dying fish with the blue-toned skin. "Yeah. Note. On the refrigerator. Got it." He'll do exactly as the note says if it will get Norway back to normal.

Finland's eyes widen. If Denmark's being serious, this is a whole new level of crazy. Norway’s body arches like his heart is going to beat its way out of his chest, so Finland grabs another bucket and prepares to fling it. Hungary throws out a hand to stop him. "Don't! Look at him. He looks like he's having a heart attack! Lukas, it’s okay! We understand, we’re safe. Don’t kill yourself fighting him!"

Assured that his message has been delivered, Lukas lets go. His body collapses, curling in on itself and breathing hard. Loki, too, is looking to regain his lost strength.

Denmark steps back from the crumpled form of his friend, clutching his own heart at the sight. Fuck. He glances at the others. "I- The note-" He turns away and races for the house.

Finland and Hungary share a look, slowly approaching the downed figure. "He... is he...?" Finland starts, wishing he could reach out and poke him.

"No," Hungary whispers. "I think he's just resting. We... Um. We should move fast. This could be our only chance. We need a way to expel the god, not just weaken it."

"He won't go down easy," says Poland. "Look what he did to my poor Toris!" Lithuania has stopped twitching, but he's whimpering and he is still unable to get up. Poland strokes his head gently, humming a little. The sound seems to help; there’s magic in his voice, and it gives them all a little more hope.

XXX

Denmark races for the house, devil’s tail moving back and forth behind him to help him make tight turns. A host of creatures are fighting the wolves between him and the house. There's Turkey in his kitty ears, a giant green thing, and a weird tentacle thing with Japan's body. He's either in a nightmare, or something really funky is going on. It doesn’t matter; Norway is in trouble, he doesn't have time to find out.

"Scusie!" he shouts, pushing past a wolf and knocking it to the ground as it lunges for Turkey. "Sorry bro! Gotta do stuff!"

Turkey takes advantage of the respite to catch his breath and look around at the chaos. "What the fuck is going on?"

The big green troll replies with Sweden’s voice, "Norway's possessed by an old god who likes t’cause trouble."

Turkey really isn't sure how to respond to that. But the wolves are regrouping, and Turkey is backed against a wall by Belarus. He hisses and the wolf snarls, and then, to his utter shock, they are answered from above by a chorus of "Blehmew!" He and the wolf look up to find four kittens with little red eyes floating above them. Turkey gapes for a moment, then points. "Good kitties, nice little, uh...whatever you are. See the doggy? Go get her!"

As one, the kittens bare their fangs and swoop down.

Meanwhile, Denmark launches himself through the door to the house. He didn’t expect it to be open, so there’s nothing but the floor to slow his momentum. He picks himself up and shakes it off. It's odd to find the house in such disarray. Norway _never_ lets it get like this. There’s broken glass, streaks of blood, bodies on the floor... Well, France and that other guy, but they look like they're still breathing. _We'll fix that later_ , Denmark resolves. He jumps over the pair and continues to the kitchen.

"Note, note, note..." he mutters, staring at the refrigerator for three panicked minutes before he notices the huge, bright red packet of paper taped to the door, labeled with "DENMARK: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY (real ones, not 'I'm hungry and there's no one here to cook.')"

After taking the note off the door, Denmark opens it up and begins to read aloud. " _Denmark. Don't do this unless I'm in trouble. Seriously, seriously in trouble. I'm not kidding, I will kill you if you…_ yadda yadda yadda..." He flips the page. " _I mean it, only if I'm dying or_ -" He flips the page. " _Really, Denmark, I will strangle you._ Oh C'mon!"

Finally, he flips to the last page and skims over the instructions. "So, a jump to the left, and then a step to the right..." He follows each direction until he reaches the end. Nothing happens. "What the fuck?" he curses, picking up the paper and going over the steps again. There, at the bottom, it says "MUST BE PERFORMED AT ALTAR IN CAVE.”

"Well, damn, Norge, you could've mentioned that earlier." Denmark rips off the last page and drops the rest. He runs for the door, blissfully unaware that the pages have flipped to display one he skipped; one that begins with _“All rituals MUST be performed at the cave, nowhere BUT the cave, and in the PROPER cave. Do not do this in the kitchen. Do not do it in the…”_

Outside, Turkey is now in command of small battalion of blood-sucking kittens (at least, as far as one can command cats). Sweden is wielding a tree branch in defense, as that is less likely to cause permanent injury than his fists alone, and Japan is whacking the wolves with his tentacles. It's a difficult situation, because none of them want to actually hurt their fellow nations. Unfortunately, it's clear that the wolves have been brainwashed to very much want to hurt them.

Sweden calls out as Denmark rushes by. "Matt, make sure Tino’s safe! Tell him t'stay out of the way!"

"Totally didn't hear ya, don't care what'cha said!" Denmark shouts back. He leaps over the smallest wolf and keeps running, reading the note to himself over and over. He _has_ to get this right. "Jump to the left, jump to the left, jump..."

"He's no help!" Japan snaps, smacking one of the wolves away with a tentacle. A few of the vampkitties descend on it, nibbling it to a dazed state.

Sweden shakes his head. "I can't believe m'gonna say this, but...he's the best hope we have." Just to save his own reputation, he adds, "So we're all done for."

XXX

Norway opens his eyes just enough to see. He remains still and quiet, waiting, watching, considering his options. It appears they’ve moved him inside the cave in order to keep an eye on him, but no one is paying attention to him now. The witch and the wila are huddled over the wolf, and though the tonttu is closer his back is turned. Beside the tonttu, on the edge of the rune circle that brought him here, is a bone knife. There's also one bucket of the witch's potion left; that will be the first thing to go. Another dousing could reduce the mental walls he's rebuilt to nothing but dust. And then...perhaps Loki will win this body, perhaps Lukas will. Or perhaps they will struggle until the meld, not one or the other. The third prospect is so frightening he's unwilling to chance it, no matter how confident he is that he’s stronger than Lukas.

"Is he conscious?" Finland asks, stepping closer the wolf. Poland and Hungary are trying to heal the Lithuania with magic, and there's nothing that he can do to help.

"He's moving a little," Hungary answers. Lithuania opens his eyes and tries to push himself to his feet. Poor thing. "Careful, careful," she whispers, trying to see the damage and stop him from getting up at the same time.

Poland is beside himself. He strokes Lithuania’s fur, still singing softly. "Oh Toris, I'm so sorry. Please be okay, Tori, please..."

Loki knows he will never get a better chance. He takes a breath, then throws himself toward the bucket and the knife. The potion spills across the floor, spreading over the runes and sinking into the dirt. The knife is in his hand, and he grins wickedly at the fear on their faces. "You know, I'm not the one who required so many sacrifices in the old days. Maybe I'll make one, and dear old Odin will let me stay a little longer."

"No!" Finland throws his hands out, defending those behind him. If Loki is going to hurt anyone, it might as well be him.

Before the wayward god can move, Denmark bursts into the cave. He skids to a halt when he sees Norway on his feet, brandishing a knife. _Not_ Norge. Right. He sucks in a breath and shouts, "Yo! Bodysnatcher!"

Loki turns, knife still pointed towards the others. "Denmark. It's been a while; I always liked an imp. Why don't you relax? We can have some fun together; I'm only borrowing your friend, after all."

"Can't, bro. 'Cause, like, so much sugar in all that candy I was eating earlier, and it _just_ kicked in," Denmark says. He edges past him, unafraid. He knows Norway, and Norway told him exactly what to do in that note. If he trusts Norge, everything will turn out fine. It always does. "I'm, like, friggin' _bouncy_. We should play football. Or, no, not football, because I suck at that. Maybe something involving brute force and little chance of me getting punched in the face. _Curling_! We can try curling!"

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Brute force has never been my specialty; I prefer cunning, or a weapon that requires a little more speed and finesse." He twirls the knife between his fingers, then whips it out inches from Finland's face. "Don't do anything stupid, tonttu. You may be quick, but I'm faster."

Finland jerks back with a gasp. He was going to try to get the rest of them out. Clearly, Loki is a few steps ahead.

"Right, right. Totally get it," Denmark says, and before Loki can turn around, he jumps on the altar and begins the routine. "Jump to the left..." This time, almost immediately, his tattoos begin to burn white hot, to the point where Denmark is cringing through it, barely thinking of the moves at all.

It takes Loki a moment to understand what happening, but once he does Norway's face drains of color and his mouth turns from a grin to an ugly snarl. "No...NO! You damned creature, I won't let you call him! NO!"

He leaps at Denmark and the pair tumble to the dirt in a tangle of limbs. Norway comes out on top, his knife centimeters above Denmark's throat. There it quivers, and the color of his eyes starts to blend from green to blue, then back again. " _No_. I SAID NO! I'm going to kill him, there's nothing you can do! I'm stronger than you are, I won't let them take me back!"

"You're not gonna fucking touch him!" Denmark yells. He kicks and tugs, trying to get Loki off of him. But he's got that knife, so Denmark has to duck and swerve to avoid it. "He's not your servant, he never was! We don't serve you!"

"I wasn't talking to YOU!" Loki screams, shoving Denmark back against the floor. His head is in utter turmoil; Lukas is pushing against weakening mental walls, slowly gaining control of a few parts of his body. Loki hasn't felt him fight this hard all night, and it's taking all his will to keep from losing. This isn't right; this is not how things are supposed to happen! He'll have to kill the imp fast, make it so Lukas has nothing to struggle for - and so that there is no one left to summon someone stronger. He jams the knife forward, but at the last moment his hand goes wide and it sinks into the dirt next to Denmark's eye.

Norway curses, struggling with his own hand, his body shaking with the strain of two minds vying for control. Loki is still stronger, and they both know it. Eventually he will win. Loki doesn’t understand why Lukas keeps fighting; he’ll destroy himself in the process. "All of this for an imp?" he hisses.

For just a moment, Norway’s eyes turn completely blue and the knife jerks back. "No. All of this for Mattias." Lukas sinks the knife into his own arm, and they both scream.

"Luk-!" Denmark starts to reach for him, but the fight isn't over yet. He's the only one that can put an end to it. With one last look at that bleeding arm, Denmark pushes Norway away and jumps onto the altar.

The unexpected shock of the pain drives Loki back into his mind. It’s enough for Lukas to take control, to give Denmark _time_ if he can give him nothing else. He pulls the knife from his arm and throws it out of the cave, unwilling to leave a weapon in Loki's reach. He grips the wound and grits his teeth, eyes scanning for anything else he can move, anything to tie himself with or...his gaze lands on Finland and the others. "Go!" he shouts. "Get out of here, before he comes back!"

Finland throws his arm under Poland’s and drags him out of the cave, despite Poland’s protests at leaving Lithuania. Once he dumps Poland a safe distance away, Finland returns to help Hungary lift Lithuania from the floor of the cave and run. His heart is pounding in his ears. How can they leave Denmark there? What if something goes wrong? He has to find Sweden and bring him to the cave. Sweden’s the only one who came close to doing some damage to Loki last time.

Denmark, meanwhile, has been repeating the dance over and over, trying to ignore the fact that his arm feels like it's on fire. The pain lancing through his tattoos is like nothing he has ever felt. His whole world starts to burn behind his eyes. There’s light and fire and – suddenly, nothing but a calm, unyielding pulse of warmth. He begins to chant without even realizing he’s opened his mouth.

Norway can feel his mind slipping again. Loki is seething; he’s absolutely livid now, and more than willing to hurt him in order to get his way. Norway doesn't care. He holds onto his body for as long as he can and focuses on Denmark. The sweet fool has no idea what he's doing, and yet he's about to save them. Even when Loki rips his mind away, Norway's lips retain a soft smile for a few more seconds.

The light warms Denmark’s heart and spreads through every nerve. He sinks, releasing himself and relinquishing control. When his eyes open they are bluer than ever before.

"You immortal pain!" says Denmark - who is no longer Denmark. He hops off the altar as if it is barely a step. "Father is going to have your hide if I don't skin it myself."

"Hello brother," says the green-eyed Norway. "We really must stop meeting this way." His eyes dart around, searching for an escape or a weapon. The witch left some supplies, but nothing very useful. The remains of her potion have turned to mud now, but he still might be able to drown Denmark in it – unless, of course, that body now houses Thor’s strength as well as his mind.

" _Hello, brother_? Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Thor backs Loki into the cave wall, towering over him with such confidence and power that it looks grotesquely out of place on Denmark.

Loki gives him a nasty grin. "Come, come, it isn't like I did this on my own. I was _summoned_. See the runes for yourself; I was called with blood and with magic, just as you were."'

"You heard father's name on his lips, Loki. He was not calling you," Thor growls, pinning him with his arms. "Even if he did call you, you were not summoned to cause chaos, or kill countries, or fuck incubi."

Loki snorts. "As if you can throw stones - especially on that last one. Besides, I could not have resisted the call if I wanted to. The name was wrong, but the runes were not. I had no choice but to come." He leans forward and pokes Thor in the chest, finger crackling with magic just in case. "I helped, didn't I? No one's dead yet, and now they can all see one another for what they truly are. If it weren’t for me they’d still be lost, instead of working together."

Thor's eyes spark with thunder and he presses into Loki’s touch, enjoying the tingle of magic instead of letting it shove him away. "You did not have to fuck the incubi," he snaps. Then he grips Loki by the shoulders and kisses him hard, taking his time as he captures that soul to his own.

The green eyes widen, and something powerful crawls between them. Their spirits call one another home. There's a moment when Loki does not even feel himself slipping, and by the time he does, it's too late. He struggles hard, sinking his nails into Denmark's shoulders and his mental claws into Norway’s body, trying to anchor himself. However, fighting with Lukas has weakened him. In a sudden rush Loki is gone, and Norway sinks in Denmark's arms, limp as a doll.

Denmark is left empty as well. He falls against the wall, clutching his prize, his Norge, like a life preserver. He holds him, his forehead against the cool rock. When he finally opens his eyes he leans in to take Norway's mouth hard and without polite mercies. He's back. _They're_ back. Whatever happened tonight, whatever comes next, having Norge like this and knowing that he's safe... that's worth everything.


	29. The Smoke Clears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Loki gone, Norway and Denmark search for the other nations and try to set things right. What they find surprises them - and for once, it's a nice surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay! RL has kept us very busy lately. There is just an epilogue left to this story, and that will be posted soon! Thank you so much for reading, especially those of you who left kudos and kind comments.

When Norway's eyes open, they're blue again. His head aches, but the pressure is gone. Denmark is with him, too, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. He returns it with just as much enthusiasm. He's so relieved that they're here and alive, that they have not lost themselves in this mess.

Denmark grips Norway's shirt, pushing him gently against the rock. His knees are weak and his body is hot, but this is all he could ever want. Finally, Denmark pulls away. He presses their foreheads together, saying nothing. For a moment they remain quiet, enjoying the privacy of their thoughts and recovering their internal balance.

The silence is broken by the pounding of heavy feet, and then a huge shadow blocks the cave entrance. Sweden peers in cautiously. He’s carrying the bone knife he found outside, just in case he has to summon someone else or force the god out of his friend's body the bloody way. Removing the heart will remove the god, but he'd rather not go down that road again. "Lukas? Matt?"

Denmark sighs, his carefully disentangling himself from Norway. "Present. I think." He looks to Norway. "Present?"

Norway nods. "Yes." He reaches out to touch Denmark’s face. "Thank you."

Outside, Hungary is waiting with all that remains of her potion, ready to throw it and give them all one more chance to get rid of Loki – no matter what that takes. Judging by the way Denmark and Norway are cuddled together, the coast is clear. She breathes a sigh of relief and steps inside, Finland trailing in behind her.

Now that the danger has passed, Finland takes a moment to openly stare at his husband in complete awe. Sweden is green, muscled, and mean-looking. Oh fuck, _why is that turning him on so hard_? He feels like he can’t look away, his eyes sliding all over Sweden’s body. When Sweden turns his head, he sees the earrings dangling from his pointed ears - and the tiny hole in his earlobe that's missing a ring. "Bernie?" he finally asks.

Sweden sucks in his breath, his heart thundering in his chest. There's no hiding his troll form now; not after all of this. He looks away from Finland, hoping to at least keep his face hidden. "Tino...m'sorry. I know I’m ugly. I never wanted y't'see. S'my fault."

"Bernie..." Finland says, his voice gravelly with no little lust. "What're the earrings for?"

Sweden ducks his head, more ashamed of those then any other part of himself. But he swore to himself he would be honest this time, about everything. "Battles and raids; one for every win. The one I lost...s'from when I claimed y'."

A strong shudder shoots down Finland's spine at those words, and his breath goes short. Oh. Dear. _God._ "Take me," he whispers, so turned on he can't stand it. "Take me right now."

Sweden blinks, surprised enough to turn around. "What?" Finland is flushed and making the kind of expression he only gets when Sweden's done something particularly worthy of lust - like clean the kitchen naked. "Y'want to...but Tino, I’m a troll!"

"You are the hottest thing I have ever _fucking_ seen," Finland replies. Then he pounces, throwing Sweden back against the rock and wrapping his legs around his waist.

Norway eases himself off the rock and rolls his eyes. "Please do not defile my altar. Follow the path there into the back. It will protect you from the sun. Dawn's coming." Indeed, the moon has sunk low in the sky and there is a pale light just beginning to appear on the horizon.

Sweden grunts and carries Finland deeper into the cave, resolved not to question this most miraculous of gifts.

Norway sighs. His arm is starting to throb and there's blood all down his sleeve; it goes well with the ache in his head. He'd like nothing more than to curl up right here with Denmark, but he can't. People were hurt tonight, hurt because of him. Now he needs to fix them. "Come on, Matt. Let's play one more game. It's called 'make sure nobody died'."

"That's a boring game," Denmark replies. He relents anyway, taking Norway’s hand and allowing himself to be led from the cave. They make their way across the yard, and when they reach the tree Denmark raises his eyebrows. The wolves are curled up at the roots, every one of them asleep. Turkey and Japan are nowhere to be found. "Huh. That can't be good."

Norway cautiously leans closer to the pack. There's a dart in one brown wolf's shoulder, the kind the hunters use. "It looks like help arrived. But I thought...” His brow wrinkles, bringing up a fuzzy memory that is only partially his own. “I think I turned one of them into a sheep." He glances at Hungary, wondering if she's seen anything.

Hungary is a bit busy watching Sweden and Finland together through her crystal ball. "Huh?" she blinks, looking up and hiding the ball in her sleeve. "Yeah, I, um. I think you did."

Norway looks between the wolves and the setting moon; the sun will help them control their beasts, but then he will have a pile of naked nations under his tree. Just perfect.

Denmark shrugs, heading for the house. He opens the door and steps inside, only to find... _This can't be the same house_. The floor is spotless, devoid of glass and blood. There are no bodies, no dents in the walls. The lights are on, the house looks cheery. There's not even a speck of dust.

Beside him, Norway’s mouth drops open. This doesn't make any sense. One tonttu could not do all this in so little time, unless more time than he thought passed between his mental battle with Loki and Tino’s return. "What on earth…?”

"Hush, mon ami. The wizard is sleeping."

Norway turns to the couch, where France is pulling a blanket over an exhausted England. His mind is far too tired for this. "When I left, you were unconscious and he was not here. Explain."

"When you left you were not yourself. Yet here we are." France smiles softly, smoothing hair away from England's face. The wizard looks peaceful, _finally_ able to rest without fearing his dreams. France straightens and beckons the others to follow him. "Come to the kitchen; the rest of them are there, getting patched up."

As they follow, France continues to explain, "It seems Australia ran to his big brother when New Zealand became sheepish. Once the transfiguration was set to rights, they returned to help. Poor, dear Arthur; he hasn't slept in days, for fear of me."

"Oh, I believe _that_ ," Denmark chuckles, just barely ducking France's fist.

As they enter the kitchen, Australia is bundling New Zealand in a bathrobe emblazoned with a Union Jack. "Flamin' Hell, Z. You'll catch yer death!"

New Zealand shrugs. "No time to grab new clothes. I do miss the wool a little bit; it was nice and warm. Ugh...my stomach hurts. I think your phone is vibrating."

All around the room are recovering nations. Greece is sitting up at the kitchen table, still looking rather dazed. Japan forces him to keep eating and drinking a cup of juice, one tentacle gently caressing his hair. Behind them, Turkey is tucking about a dozen vampire kittens into the cabinets, where they can sleep for the day away from the sun’s burning light. Poland and Canada occupy the other two kitchen chairs, the latter holding Poland's leg in his lap as he finishes off a set of bandages. Lithuania is on the floor beside them, resting his chin on Poland's lap.

When France leads Norway in, all of them look up and freeze. "It's alright," France says with that easy smile. "We're all ourselves again."

Norway shifts awkwardly, rubbing his injured arm. They're still looking at him. He should say something, try to explain. He just doesn't know where to begin. "Sorry about...everything. I never wanted to hurt any of you."

“Of course not! Look, nobody even died, so it all worked out!” Denmark throws an arm around Norway and drags him further into the room. The sky is turning a heavy pink as the sun rises. The night is done, the moon is fading away. "Man. What a night."

Lithuania whines in agreement, pressing his chin to Poland's thigh and closing his eyes. Canada smiles at the two of them, speaking softly. "I think we can all agree that the next step is a long nap."

"No kidding," Poland agrees, gently stroking his lover's hair. It seems to be getting longer under his fingers. "I have a question though. Well, a lot of questions, mostly centered around what the hell happened tonight. But more pressing, um, why am I not furry? Because, like," he gestures to his leg, "that's bad news, right?"

"Normally," New Zealand agrees, "but you're a fairy, right? It's your blood; it rejects the curse. That's why it smells so good to them."

Norway raises an eyebrow; even he didn't know that. Perhaps it _is_ time they start talking about all of their supernatural quirks. Then they can work together to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

"Awesome!" says Poland. "Hear that, Liet? I'll still be totally sexy! Not that it doesn't look good on you, of course, you're..." He looks down, and his mouth drops open. "...naked."

Lithuania is, indeed, naked. He’s human again and asleep on Poland's thigh, looking so adorable that everyone turns to smile at him. Then a shriek echoes from the back yard. They all look toward the window to see Estonia and Latvia jumping from their place beneath the tree at the sight of Ukraine and Belarus, naked and blushing. Well, Ukraine is blushing. Belarus is brandishing a rather large branch.

Norway groans, France laughs, and Poland glares at anyone giving Lithuania a funny look. "We should...find some spare clothes. Or something," Norway sighs. A nap sounds so wonderful right now.

"Ah-ah, darling, allow us." France pulls out another chair and points to the first aid kit in Canada's hands. "Do make use of that. I am sure I can find something suitable, if you do not mind me looking through your closet. Though..." he glances out the window. "However will we find something to fit so much bosom? Nonsense! I am _France_ , I can clothe anyone!" With that, he departs.

Greece stares between the naked nations, the kitty Turkey, and the tentacled Japan. He's very confused. "Am I dreaming?"

"It's alright, Hera-kun," Japan whispers lovingly, petting through Hera's hair with a tentacle and cuddling him close. "I think it’s time we all took a nap." One by one, all the nations start to wander off for some rest, taking the liberty of borrowing Denmark and Norway's couches, beds, and various soft surfaces.

It's odd for Denmark and Norway to be alone now, but at least the first-aid kit gives Denmark something to do with his hands. He pops it open, pulling out some antiseptic, butterfly closures, and bandages. He takes Norway’s arm and cleans the knife wound. "You didn't have to do that, you know," he says softly.

"It was all I could think of," Norway replies, staring out the window. "He was going to kill you; I couldn't let him do that."

"Eh, I could take him." Denmark says with a grin, knowing it's a blatant lie. Well, not completely. He could have taken Loki on, but at the risk of hurting Norway? He never would. Never. He stretches the butterfly closures over the wound, making sure they’re secure before he wraps it in bandages. It's the most careful thing he's done in a long time.

Norway grabs Denmark's hand and squeezes it, finally looking him in the eye. "Mattias. He would have killed you, and you knew it. You came for me anyway. That...that means a lot."

Denmark is silent for a moment as he holds Norway’s gaze, trying to show as much of his heart as he can. For all his bravado, he's a fragile thing when it comes to Norway. A very fragile thing. He looks down at their hands, joined together tight. "You should've known I would. I'd never leave you, Luk. Not even if you wanted me to."

The corners of Norway’s mouth quirk up. Denmark has certainly proved that to be true more than once. But sometimes (all the time, really), Norway realizes that he wouldn't leave, either. "I know. I love you too."

That little smile makes Denmark smile back. He leans in, kissing Norway’s mouth one more time. This time it's slow, easy, and content. It makes him feel lighter. Norway loves him, and that's worth everything.


	30. November 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue - Prussia comes to Germany's rescue, Russia and China traumatize Estonia, and Denmark assures Norway that he'll be there for him no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! Thank you all for reading, and again a BIG thank you to those who left kind reviews! We hope you enjoyed the story, and if you did check out our other works!

" _92 bottles of beer on the wall, 92 bottles of beer..._ "

Prussia can hear the singing from miles away. Not just any singing, but _Germany_ singing. That means he has to be drunk, and a drunk Germany is a hell of a lot easier to talk to than a sober Germany. His brother actually acknowledges his presence then - more as an alcohol-induced hallucination than a real ghost, but it’s better than usual. He figures it’s as good a time as any to apologize for the whole possession thing.

However, when Prussia finally finds his brother it is not at a bar, but in the middle of a tomato patch. Germany is tied to the biggest tomato he's ever seen in his life, with Spain next to him and the Italy brothers fast asleep in their laps. He stares.

" _87 bottles of beer on the wall_..." Ludwig sings... drunkenly? Drunkenly. He has to be drunk. Or maybe just really sexed out; he didn't know his body could handle that many rounds. Now Vene is fast asleep on his lap, purring like a kitten. He would pet him if he had free hands.

Prussia floats down in front of the pair and crosses his arms. "Damn, West, looks like you guys had one hell of a party."

Germany stares blearily up at the ghost of his brother, kind of amused by his appearance. "You _would_ show up after twelve beers."

"Ehya, Gilbert! Look, you're all see-through!" Spain laughs, half-drunk on this whole experience himself.

"We've had this discussion, Toni," says Prussia, smiling a little in spite of himself. "I'm always here, West, whenever you need me." He eyes the ropes holding them to the tomato. "And _boy,_ do you need me."

"Do I?" Germany asks, looking up at the knots. Prussia probably came just to taunt him. "Why don't you get this over with, subconscious? You're killing my buzz."

Prussia sighs. "Look, while I've got you here and you can't run away or anything, I wanted to say...sorry, for the possession thing. It was slightly unawesome. But it's way more unawesome that you keep ignoring me! I'm really here, Ludwig." He reaches out, trying to brush his fingers over Germany’s face. They go through it instead.

It is that non-touch that brings Germany nearly to tears. "I..." He leans toward the hand a little, his eyes watering. "I know," he finally whispers. "I know you are."

"Yeah, well. Try and remember when you're not drunk on sex with your little tomato thingy, alright?" Prussia smirks.

Germany breathes out slowly. There are no words for this, except maybe, "I miss you."

Prussia looks away, scratching at the back of his head. "Shit, West, I said notice me, not get all mushy. I told you I'm here, right? Besides, it looks to me like you've got plenty of good company." He nods to the naked Italian in Germany's lap.

Italy sighs in his sleep, curling a little tighter around him and nuzzling his face against Germany's stomach. "Tomaaatooo...mm...pasta Ludwig."

Germany looks down, smiling a little. Yes. He's got plenty of good company. But that company is not his brother, the one who raised him, who made him a man and then made him stronger. Germany slides back against the tomato and murmurs softly, "It does not matter without big brother."

"I'm here," says Prussia, skimming his hand over Germany’s hair so that a few strands fall out of place. "I'm so amazing that there was no way I could really die. SO!" Tired of all the emotional stuff, Prussia stands back. "Bet you want out of here, eh? Good news for you, you're seriously cool big brother is here to save the day!"

Germany chuckles softly. "You can't even move my hair, Gil. What makes you think you can untie a knot?" He looks down, smiling at Italy. "He'll let me out," he says, but then he thinks about it. "... Maybe."

"Are you doubting my awesome, Ludwig?" asks Prussia, his aura getting darker and larger.

"Oh, never doubt the awesome!" Spain whispers. "I did not doubt it!"

"Well in that case, I may be able to do something." Prussia cracks his incorporeal knuckles and bends his will toward the ropes. They start to move, shifting like snakes, loosening - and then suddenly going so tight that Spain and Germany let out equally uncomfortable yelps. "Ooh, my bad. I can fix that." The ropes loosen, slower this time, and untie themselves.

Germany watches in complete shock as the ropes come untied. His hand falls free, flopping down and flexing as he tries to get the blood back. "Oh, Sweet Mother of God..."

"Ch'ya, no need to thank me. It's just how incredible my skills are, right?" Prussia grins, a wicked gleam in his eye. "By the way, I'm not getting any clothes for you. You can walk home naked. Through Switzerland's yard! Kesesesese!" Prussia vanishes, his laugh echoing through the field long after he’s gone.

Breathing in slowly, Germany looks down and slides his hand through Vene's hair, trying to wake him before Romano. "Liebschen..."

Unfortunately, Romano does wake first. When he realizes where he is, he jolts out of Spain’s lap. "What the Hell?!"

"Good morning Mano!" Spain says brightly, stretching out his cramped muscles. "That was a fun game. We should play again sometime! But now I'm hungry. Let's get breakfast!"

Romano’s mouth opens and shuts several times, taking in everything from the tomato patch to Germany and the general lack of clothing. Turning red as a ripe tomato, he grabs a leaf to cover himself. “Tell anyone about this, and you’re both dead.”

Rolling his eyes, Germany pulls Vene up in his lap and kisses his cheek. "Wakey-wakey, Liebschen. It is time to leave the crime scene."

Vene sighs softly and snuggles into Germany, wrapping his arms around his neck. "No more training Ludwig. It's siesta time," he mumbles, and promptly falls asleep again.

XXX

Morning rises, and Russia, who has been licking his wounds all night, is curled up next to the one creature on earth he would allow to see him in such a state. China is amused. He always enjoys seeing his lovers in that contented place, just after pain has subsided. It's even more adorable with his puppy, who is just starting to become human again. China loves to watch him shift, so he runs his fingers through Russia’s hair and waits.

Russia has always liked the warmth that comes with the change back. It's slower and easier to go from beast to man, at least physically. Maybe it's because he's so exhausted by the time the moon goes down that he doesn't feel the pain. He stretches, which brings soreness to his still-healing ribs and memories of the night before. He growls a little, both angry and ashamed. He really should not have tried to eat Lithuania’s mate, but Lithuania should not have challenged him.

 _Ah, humiliation_ , China thinks. So rare on that strong, pale face. "Good morning," China soothes, scratching beneath Russia's chin. Even as a man, he's rather fond of doggy affection.

The growl turns happier, despite Russia's best efforts. He ends up wiggling his butt, forgetting that the tail is no longer attached and not yet sure how to voice his pleasure. It is always nice to wake up in China's bed, and that serves to pacify some of his ruffled fur. He presses his face against China's hand and licks it.

China smirks, scratching a little faster and leaning in to press a kiss to Russia's nose. "My good puppy is awake," he purrs, nuzzling his throat.

Russia hums, the sound coming out a little more human. He opens his eyes and smiles. "I am glad to be here, my little bat."

"Do you know why I'm glad?" China murmurs, reaching down to stroke Russia's stomach happily. "You're naked, and you’re all bruised. It's sexy."

Russia groans, eagerly rolling to give China more access to his belly. It’s a secret weak point; just the brush of China's fingers makes him giddy. "I can be sexy for you. Touch me more!"

China giggles. Honestly, Russia is more cute than sexy in this position, wriggling around and kicking his leg out a little. "You _are_ my sexy boy," he purrs, nuzzling Russia’s neck. He starts scratching, which always has the best results. "My sexy, sexy puppy."

Russia moans and his left leg starts to twitch. "Yes! More petting please, I like it very much!"

"That's right..." China leans in, nibbling at Russia's throat, his teeth scraping against the skin. He won't bite him yet. He likes to build the anticipation, give Russia false starts and make his heart thump with want until he's begging.

"Ohh...ooohwooo!" Russia nearly howls, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and a silly, happy look on his face. "More! Moremoremoremore!"

China laughs, scratching at Russia's belly vigorously as he pulls back. "Aru-Aru! You like the tummy rubs? Is my good, good boy. You get the tummy rubs..." He continues to offer praise, rising to kneel and scratch at his stomach with both hands.

One floor down and outside, Estonia is grumbling to himself. Once again, he pulled the short straw and was left to go find Russia. Apparently his previous trauma does not absolve him of this duty; he strongly suspects Lithuania rigged the game so that he could go home and enjoy his mate. He sighs and reaches out to knock...and the door swings open. That's worrying.

Wary now, Estonia steps into the house. "Hello? Yao, Ivan? I'm just trying to make sure you're all okay. And that you didn't eat anybody. Are you..." His shoe sticks to the floor, and he looks down. His stomach sinks. That's a lot of dried blood.

He hears a howl and panics, racing up the stairs. "Hold on! I'm coming!" He has no idea who exactly he is rescuing, or how he is going to go about doing that. But apparently the wolf in Estonia is not gone yet, and Russia is _pack_. You protect the pack, no matter what.

A little human caution kicks in as he skids to a halt at the top of the stairs. Maybe a more subtle approach is best, instead of charging in and getting mauled. Yeah. That would be good. He pads closer to the room where the noises are coming from and gently pushes the door open...

Estonia’s mouth drops open. He must be having some kind of stroke, because there is no way what he's seeing is real. Russia is naked on the bed, rolling from side to side while China leans over and rubs his belly. It's so adorable it's disturbing – or perhaps so disturbing it’s adorable. Just in case it’s actually happening, Estonia manages to pull out his phone and grab a picture.

China grins, leaning over and giving Russia a kiss on the nose for being good. He pulls back. "Now. Roll over, and I'll give you ear scratchies."

Russia rolls, pushing his head into China’s lap and his ass toward the door. Estonia is quite sure he should leave now, but his entire body is frozen.

"Awwe..." China purrs, his hands coming down to scratch up and down Russia's throat and behind his ears. “You like that, puppy? I know you do. I know you like a lot of-" He catches sight of a figure in the door and freezes. His stares at Estonia.

Estonia stares back, unable to make his legs move.

Confused by the sudden lack of scratching, Russia pushes against China's hands. "I do like it! More please Yao!" China does not move. That is when he notices the smell. He whips around to see Estonia standing in the doorway, phone out. His face goes bright pink, and then turns into a snarl. " _How much did you see_?"

"A-ah not much sir! J-just...you, um, enjoying each other's company!" Estonia stammers, shoving the phone into his pocket, his fingers accidentally brushing against the “send” button.

The phone instantly starts beeping. "You have some messages," China says, ever-helpful as he covers himself with a sheet and rubs a calming hand over Russia's belly.

That hand is not fair because it prevents Russia from killing this spy. On the other hand, Estonia _is_ pack, and he’s really not supposed to kill them. He growls anyway, squirming away from China's hand. "You took _pictures_?! You are a bad dog Eddie, a very bad dog! Delete them!"

Estonia whimpers under the scolding, shrinking in on himself. "I didn't mean to send them, but I...I can't get them back, sir. Once they're out..."

"DELETE THEM!"

China pulls Russia back, resting his chin on his shoulder and scratching at his stomach. "But is nice to let everyone know you are my puppy," he says, tugging on Russia's nipple and giving Estonia a chance to run. "But, there is always Magic Stick to help them forget."

Russia whimpers, and Estonia takes the hint. He flees the house, not sure if he should laugh or cry. Well, at least Lativia will enjoy this - if he's not too distracted by the newly-attained shoes from Norway.

XXX

The sun is a beautiful thing. Denmark stares up at it through the kitchen window as he cooks up some oatmeal for his sleeping lover. Last night he thought the world was coming to an end. Yet when he opened his eyes today he was bruised and a little bloody, but otherwise just fine. He left Norway to sleep while he took care of their house guests and sent most of them home. Now whistling to himself, he stirs the oatmeal and sets it on a tray. Breakfast – well, brunch. Brunch in bed with Norge. It’s always a beautiful thing. He sets a couple of cups of tea on the tray and heads up the stairs, whistling.

The sun is a complete bastard, streaming in through a hole in the blinds. Norway glares at it and almost pulls a pillow over his face. His body is achy and drained, and he keeps getting flashes of the terrible things he's done. He groans, just as the door opens and a wonderful smell wafts over him. He sits up, raising an eyebrow at the tray. "What's all this?"

"Oh, _now_ you're awake." Denmark chuckles, sliding onto the bed and setting the tray over Norway’s lap. "It's not poison, if that's what you're thinking. I made oatmeal! At least, that's what it said on the box. I followed the directions! Mostly." He grins, just to show he's kidding, and reaches out to press a hand against Norway’s forehead. "How're you feeling, man?"

"Tired," Norway admits, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and tea. He reaches up to take Denmark's hand and squeezes it. "Thank you, for everything."

Denmark raises his eyebrows in shock. "I'm sorry - what? Dude, I could've sworn I just heard 'Thank you'. And 'for everything'."

Norway glares. "Don't push your luck." Then his face softens and he sighs. "You deserve it. If it weren't for you, I might have killed someone - or everyone."

Denmark slides an arm over his shoulders, his fingers tucking into the back of Norway’s shirt. "C'mon, you almost took that wimp. I just finished the job, man. I mean, not that I couldn't have totally demolished that dude, but you made it cake."

“I would have done anything I had to," Norway replies, glancing at the bandage on his sore arm. "Anything, to keep you safe. I couldn't stand the idea of hurting you. At least more than you deserved." He smirks a little, lifting up the mug of tea.

"Wow," Denmark says, tugging on the back of his t-shirt. "You almost got a little maudlin for a second. I thought you might even end that with something sweet." He slides his hand over Norway’s thigh and presses a box to it.

Norway’s smirk widens, just barely. "Sweet, me? Now that's just ridiculous." He sets down the mug. "What have you got there?"

Grinning back, Denmark leans in and swipes some of the blueberries from Norway’s oatmeal. "Something awesome, obviously. What else would it be? I'm the king."

Norway is still too tired to come up with a good comeback for that - at least, that's what he's telling himself. He takes a spoonful of oatmeal to calm his growling stomach. "Do I get to see?"

"Yeah, duh, dude." Denmark laughs. He leans up to kiss Norway’s mouth, drawing him away from the oatmeal for a second. "Been hanging on to this one for a while. Happy anniversary, or whatever." He grins lazily as he pulls away, flicking open the box to reveal a love token: a rune bracelet, etched with the symbol of a man's love for another man in platinum, over and over again.

Norway takes it out and runs his fingers over the rune, feeling like it’s being etched into his heart. "It's beautiful. But it’s nothing compared to you." He smiles and swoops in to kiss him.

Denmark blinks, falling back against the bed as the kiss takes him by surprise. He pushes Norway away a little, his eyes wide. "Dude. What is _with_ you?" This sort of affectionate stuff is both A - not his Norge, and B - getting his hopes up really fucking high.

"My body was just possessed by a rogue god. I nearly killed you, and yet you're still here, still doing things for me, like always. I just want to let you know that I notice." Norway moves the tray to the bedside table and turns to face him.

Denmark stares at Norway, a huge grin spreading over his face. He can’t believe what he is hearing, and yet he never expected anything less from Norge. "You know, sometimes you say stuff that I'd wait forever and a day to hear."

"Yes, well,” Norway blushes, briefly dropping his eyes to the bed. However, he owes this to Denmark, so he forces himself to get over his own insecurities and meet his lover’s eyes. “I don't like talking about those things. It's complicated. It's always going to be complicated. But right now I'm very sure that I love you, and that I'm going to continue loving you at your worst and your best."

With that, Denmark can't help pressing his lips to Norway's mouth. It feels exactly how it always feels - flat out, flash-bang perfect. "I love you too, Norge. Always have, always will."

"You better," Norway grins, leaning in for another kiss. After a few breathless moments he leans back and sighs. "I suppose I should get up and make sure no one committed murder now that they know the truth about each other."

Denmark groans and tries to pull him back down. "Hey. C'mon, I was just down there and they’re taken care of. Most of them went home. Stay with me."

Norway shakes his head. "It's my fault - with a bit of help from a certain imp. But last time I checked there was still a wolf on the loose, vampire kittens to manage, a tentacle creature and neko in heat, and I have no idea what happened to the tomato fae."

A small smile appears on Denmark's lips, and he reaches out to wind the bracelet around Norway’s wrist. "At least take this," he says, squeezing his hand.

Norway smiles as Denmark kisses the skin above the metal. "Of course. Maybe later I'll do something special for you. Any ideas, imp?"

"Maybe a few, dude." Denmark smirks.


End file.
